


don't let's start

by segmentcalled



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Communication, Conflict Resolution, Daddy Kink, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hook-Up, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Office Party, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Penis In Vagina Sex, Pining, Polyamory Negotiations, Power Dynamics, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Content, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Unprotected Sex, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:10:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21908710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: Look, he’s not fooling himself. It’s just that it keeps being the wrong time, keeps being a bad idea, will probably always be the wrong time and a bad idea. But. He’s so fucking beautiful, is the thing. Disarming and charismatic and brilliant. Lights up a whole room with his smile. He’s laughing right now, as he spins Allegra and lets her collide into his chest with her momentum. She’s laughing, too, and shoves at him, and he staggers with feigned drama.Wouldn’t it be nice if Pat could do that, too?
Relationships: Brian David Gilbert/Patrick Gill/Justin McElroy
Comments: 16
Kudos: 38
Collections: Polygolidays Gift Exchange 2019!





	don't let's start

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fishcola](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishcola/gifts).

> _no one in the world ever gets what they want and that is beautiful_  
_everybody dies frustrated and sad and that is beautiful_  
_they want what they're not and i wish they would stop_  
_[don't let's start](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lttJiF85E-k)_, they might be giants
> 
> happy candlenights fish, ily!!!!! i hope you like it!!!!!! ♥  
i am deeply pleased that you asked for a halloween party prompt despite this being published in december, lol

It’s not like Polygon’s holiday parties are anything especially rambunctious, on the whole. When it comes down to it, they’re a bunch of nerds, writers and gamers, and a fair amount of them are too low-key for much mischief most of the time. So it’s pretty much just an excuse to chill out and get varying degrees of drunk with the people you see on the daily, and — for this particular holiday — look really dumb while you’re doing it as the Monster Mash plays in the background. Or, if you’re Brian, you somehow override the looking-dumb part by going full _Castlevania_ with some open-shirted character that presumably gives him an excuse to keep shooting Pat the sultry looks he’s been giving him from across the room all night. 

Pat had half-assed a Morgana (he’s got cat ears, alright, what more do you want?) and Allegra had rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t make too much fun of him, all things considered.

He’s loitering on his own now, not feeling confident enough to slide into a conversation that’s already in progress, not even with Simone or Allegra or Brian — this mainly because the three of them, alongside Jenna, have formed an impenetrable ring of bad dancing. Well. “Bad.” Brian’s — _whew_, Brian’s got some hips on him for _sure_, can do some unreal things with them, and — yep, Pat is definitely staring now, oops.

Look, he’s not fooling himself. He’s been into Brian for _months_. It’s just that it keeps being the wrong time, keeps being a bad idea, will probably always be the wrong time and a bad idea. But. He’s so fucking beautiful, is the thing. Disarming and charismatic and brilliant. Lights up a whole room with his smile. He’s laughing right now, as he spins Allegra and lets her collide into his chest with her momentum. She’s laughing, too, and shoves at him, and he staggers with feigned drama.

Wouldn’t it be nice if Pat could do that, too?

Well. Technically, there’s nothing stopping him. He could, in theory. But he feels out of place. He never played Brian’s role in any sense when he was younger, when he was first learning to dance; he was the one getting twirled around, getting his toes stepped on, and he hated every second of it. It’s taken the last half-decade for him to even so much as learn the first steps to his part: how to carry himself, where to put his hands, the rules he’s supposed to follow, the rules he summarily ignores. But he has no one to guide him. When you’re supposed to lead, who leads you?

So he sits, and he sips his drink, and he ruminates, and is altogether a terrible bore. Patrick Gill, what a drag, moping over there in the corner.

He’s about to phone it in for the evening and commit to getting very drunk, when the front door clatters open. Pat flinches at the sound and turns to look and — well. His heart leaps and his stomach drops and his breath catches and it is all in all a terrible sensation and a lot to feel at the sight of Justin McElroy.

Patrick hooked up with Justin exactly once. It was last autumn, in the fallout of — of last summer, and he’d ended up in Justin’s room and they’d kissed and Justin’s hand slid up Pat’s shirt, his palm against Pat’s ribs, and Pat had whined against his mouth and took him right there on his company-paid hotel bed. It was stupid and reckless Pat can’t manage to regret it, even now. Justin hadn’t batted an eyelash to see Pat naked, long-limbed and narrow-waisted with old scars on his chest and a notable lack of a dick in the traditional sense. Pat had buried his face against Justin’s shoulder as he straddled his lap and sank down on his cock, muffling his choked-off moans into Justin’s skin.

Justin had been so gentle with him. Stroked his hair and kissed him sweet and murmured praise at him, and then laid him out on his back and hooked his legs over his shoulders until Pat had tears pricking at his eyes from sheer overwhelming sensation.

It had been _good._

And then they never talked about it again.

Pat was too nervous, and Justin too — god only knows. And then Justin left Polygon, and then Pat had other things on his mind — even other, uh, people, maybe — but there’s still that little twinge of _what if_ that’s been nagging at him, that crops up in his daydreams, even after nearly a year.

He had sort of hoped that with his current messy crush situation his feelings for Justin — whatever those feelings might be, whatever part that’s non-hypothetical — were gone, that he was over it, that it had been just something from proximity, but seeing him again…

Fuck.

Justin doesn’t even look in Pat’s direction, though. He doesn’t see Pat at all. He’s immediately pulled away by Russ, who appears thrilled to see Justin, and ushered over to Chris and Chris and Tara, and, right. That’s who Justin really runs with. He probably wouldn’t have a spare thought left for Pat even if they _had_ locked eyes across the room or whatever romantic bullshit Pat’s stupid heart conjured up the moment Justin walked through the door.

Pat watches them, drumming his fingers on the cup in his hands. He can’t hear, there’s too many people, there’s no way he could hear a conversation taking place across the room, but he can see Justin gesturing emphatically about something. After barely a few moments, Justin turns on his heel, leaving the others in his wake to catch up as he goes for the laptop hooked up to the speakers.

In Pat’s line of sight, Brian’s head jerks up when the song changes and the volume amps up, the bass thudding. His eyes go very, very wide when he sees Justin.

The tone shifts wildly after that.

Brian and company have suddenly become trendsetters; there’s, like, actual dancing now? Well, as actual of dancing as there ever can be amongst a herd of drunk games journalists. But Pat stays put, refusing on principle, and — honestly, maybe he _should_ get very drunk so he either loses the uptight and joins in, or at least make moping a little more tolerable.

He finishes his drink and eyes the refreshments across the room, calculating the best trajectory to take without being intercepted, but he hasn’t taken two steps before —

“Hey, Patrick!”

“Hey, Justin,” Pat says, and does his damndest to manage a smile. Justin’s beaming, as if he’s delighted to see Pat, and there’s that stupid tug again, where he _wants_.

“Not to be presumptuous,” says Justin, which means he’s about to be. He lifts his chin to meet Pat’s eyes, and continues, “but it kinda looks like you’re not having a great time.”

Pat shrugs. “That’s not really my thing,” he says, inclining his head to indicate — _god_ — Brian, again, with his stupid hips and his stupid arms and thighs and ass and smile. Justin barks a laugh. “It’s usually a lot more chill.”

“You guys are _boring_,” Justin huffs. “Why go to all this trouble if you’re not gonna have fun? You all dragged yourselves out of the city — Cass flew in from _Canada_, for fuck’s sake, and you’ve got this whole fuckin’ place. How’d y’all swing that, anyway?”

“No idea,” Pat says. “Something about Tara’s in-laws or something? I dunno. I just got myself here.” The beat pounds out of sync with Pat’s heartbeat. It’s loud in here, close to overwhelming, between the music and the dull roar of talking and laughing.

“Are you staying in the area?” This is not idle small talk. Justin would not be making idle small talk in a room this goddamn noisy.

“I’m pretty sure most people are gonna crash here,” Pat says. “There’s a ton of bedrooms upstairs.” _Damn it, Patrick, why mention bedrooms?_ “So that’s, uh. That’s my plan, anyway.”

Justin nods. He is standing, huh, very close to Pat. “So you can’t just jet if you’re not feeling it.”

“I mean, I guess I could go take a walk or find somewhere quiet to chill, go upstairs maybe, but I was probably just gonna hang out down here —”

“And, what, drink and sulk?” Justin’s tone is teasing, his expression is teasing, but his eyes are locked dead on Pat’s. Fucker. Calling Pat on his shit.

Pat grimaces. Shrugs. “I mean, it’s kinda either drink and mope or drink and dance, isn’t it?”

“I think there’s other options,” Justin says, “if you’re willing to branch out a little.” He’s still meeting Pat’s eyes. Three parts challenge, one part question.

“I — uh. Doesn’t it seem a little soon to, um, to branch out?” Pat says carefully.

“Eh,” is Justin’s helpful response. He looks out across the room; Pat follows his gaze. Not a single person appears to be giving them a second thought, too caught up in their own lives to care about what Pat does with his. “It’s all relative.”

Pat chews on his lip. His heart is fucking racing. “I’m — I’m gonna go get some fresh air, I think,” he says, pushing his empty cup into Justin’s hands before he flees. This probably reads as a rejection. Pat doesn’t know what it is. But he turns away too fast to watch Justin’s face, to see how he takes it.

As he slips out of the room to cut through the kitchen, he chances a glance over his shoulder. Justin is already gone, already moving in the opposite direction.

Pat ducks his head and crosses the threshold, to slip out the back door.

There’s no one else outside. It’s starting to get chilly, this late, and the night is still and quiet. Pat’s ears ring a little from the absence of sound. The cat-ears headband is itchy, and he’s pretty much over the pretense of costumes at this point, really; he pulls it off and sets it down on the deck railing, next to a row of those little tiny pumpkins.

He shakes his hair out and sighs, wishing he had something to do with his hands other than obsessively check Twitter. He’s jittery, caught wildly off-balance from talking to Justin, and all he’s got is his phone and his shaky hands. It’s not often he ponders the merits of taking up smoking — far as he’s concerned, there’s very few — but it’s one of those occasions where if someone was around to offer, he’d have a real good debate with himself about whether he wanted to pick up another self-destructive habit.

He leans on the railing and puts his face in his hands, drags his hands back through his hair. God. Self-destructive habits like _sleeping with your coworker_ and _never talking to him about it_ and _running away from anything that seems like it could possibly develop into a real emotion_.

He knows what he’s doing. It’s not like he’s completely unselfaware. He knows perfectly well that he could walk back inside and Allegra would take him by the hands and laugh at his shitty dancing but in a way where he could laugh too; that he could be pulled in and be part of that little ring of goofy laughing drunk dancing and no one would bat an eyelash. Hell, he could’ve said yes to Justin and been swept upstairs for a reprise and be getting laid for the first time in a goddamn year right now. He still could, probably. He could go in there and catch Justin by the arm and tell him he’d just needed to think about it first.

(What would it be like this time, anyway? Would they talk about it first? Would they figure out what happened? Or would they just kiss, eager and sloppy and needy and hungry for each other after so long apart? Maybe this time Justin would fuck him. He could pound Pat into the mattress and clamp a hand over Pat’s mouth to keep him from screaming when he comes and then go down on him, pull all those wicked tricks with his tongue again. Justin could make Pat feel so good. Pat knows it. Pat’s _lived_ it.)

There are so many things he could be doing that don’t involve staring blankly into the massive dark backyard of Tara’s something-in-law’s massive goddamn property, and yet here he is.

God, this is stupid.

He drags a hand down his face, takes a deep breath, and goes back inside to face the music.

Except.

The scene he walks back in to find is very, very similar to the one he just left. The only difference is that it’s missing a few key components.

Justin and Brian are both gone.

There goes that plan. Dancing can be fun when you’re laughing and jumping around and maybe flirting a little. Dancing is not fun when your heart suddenly feels like it’s made of iced lead and has fallen right out of your body down through the floorboards. He doesn’t want to paste a smile on his face for Allegra, for Simone and Jenna. Legs would see right through him, anyway. And they’re having fun. They’ve adopted Susana and Chelsea and Cass into their group, which means Pat would be the only guy and that would be weird and _everything_ would be weird and maybe he shouldn’t have pinned his hopes on Justin who he basically snubbed and Brian to whom he’s never breathed a word of his feelings but that’s the route he took and he cannot imagine recalibrating yet another time to find a new occupation for the evening.

He gets himself a drink, and slinks off upstairs.

Time to call it a night.

Pat had arrived early, overestimating traffic; only a few people had gotten there yet, Tara and some people with a penchant for punctuality. He’d taken the opportunity to scout out the place to find where he’d crash for the night. He had figured that no one would want to climb too many stairs by the end of the night when they were all drunk, so he’d gone up three stories to find a room in the vain hope for some peace and quiet on behalf of his future self.

Pat’s always liked fall. The late-October air was crisp but not too cold; the sunlight through the windows was already beginning to fade into warmer colors, illuminating the vibrant colors of the trees. He’d had tentative hopes for the evening, then. Thought he might get to spend some time with Brian. Or someone. Anyone. That he’d let himself get swept up and have some fun for once in his goddamn life.

But his feet had stayed rooted to the floor and he hadn’t followed Allegra into the fray, and then he fled from his second chance.

He’s ruminating on this as he sets his half-empty cup down on the funky little table at the end of the hall to juggle continuing to look at Twitter and opening the door to the room he’d left his bag in earlier. A sound from inside makes him startle and jerk his head up towards the source.

“Oh, fuck this,” Pat says.

Of all the possible indignities, the worst is that his voice breaks as he says this, as he steps back and slams the door shut.

Slams it shut on Brian, the now-shirtless _Castlevania_ character

and Justin.

* * *

It’s not hard to find Pat. He should have gone farther. He shouldn’t have just bolted down the hall and veered through the first open door. He should have, perhaps, actually bothered to shut the door behind himself instead of just throwing himself into an armchair and huddling in on himself.

So he shouldn’t be surprised when he hears Brian say, “Patrick?”

“Fuck _off_,” Pat says, digging the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. He hadn’t wanted witnesses. He especially hadn’t wanted a witness in _Brian_. If he’s gonna be a drama queen, he’s gonna do it _quiet_, except for that he is the worst kind of dumbass and didn’t _close the fucking door_.

“I’m sorry,” Brian offers, when Pat won’t turn to look at him, won’t take his hands off his face.

Pat gives a vitriolic scoff. “No need.”

“I didn’t — Pat, I didn’t _know_ —”

“Oh, what didn’t you know!” Pat says, finally taking the bait to turn and glare at him. “That I fucked Justin last year and he never spoke to me again unless he _had to_ until tonight? That he was hitting on me earlier and I didn’t know how to take it, because how the fuck was I supposed to take it? That I’ve had the stupidest fucking crush on you for the past six months? That I’m too chickenshit to do anything about it? Like, fuck me, I guess, I missed _all_ my fucking chances and — and that’s _fine_, it’s _fine_, I’m — I’m honestly fucking glad for you, you deserve — you deserve something better — someone better than — I mean, clearly I can’t — I — I — go, Brian please,” he finally pleads, running out of steam, not wanting to say anything he doesn’t mean, anything he can’t take back. “I hope you guys have fun. For real. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t — I shouldn’t have — I’m sorry.”

“Pat,” Brian says, softly, on an exhale.

“I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. Really please go? I —”

“D’you want to join,” Brian says in a rush.

“I — what? I’m sorry?”

“Do you want to come. I mean. Like. _Hah_. Do you want to — with Justin and I, do you want — we can talk about all this, I swear to god,” Brian says. He’s moved closer to Pat, standing near the armchair, one arm crossed over his chest. He’s wearing a shirt again, but it’s buttoned wrong and halfway open, showing a hickey blooming beneath his collarbone. His hair is a mess, his glasses are gone, and he’s nervously chewing at his lip.

“Wh — why would you —”

“_Ohmygod_, Pat,” Brian says, with the gentlest fond exasperation Pat’s ever heard in his life. “I didn’t know any of what you just told me, I swear to god. Justin told me — he told me what happened between you two, uh, just now when you left, and I think he feels really bad, and both of you separately sitting here being sad about it isn’t going to do anyone any good. Please come talk? We don’t have to do anything else at all. But I’m not letting you sit here and cry by yourself because that sucks. Please?”

Brian extends a hand to Pat, and Pat stares at him in open disbelief before he takes it and lets Brian tug him to his feet. Brian pulls him up with more momentum than Pat had anticipated so that Pat collides with him — the oldest trick in the book — and he wraps Pat in a fierce, tight hug. Pat often forgets that he’s not that much taller than Brian; all he really has to do is turn his head to bury his face in Brian’s hair.

“Hey — hey,” Brian says softly, running his hand over Pat’s back. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“I’m not crying,” Pat says.

“Didn’t say you were,” Brian says, good-humored. “We can stay here as long as you need.”

The mere thought of seeing Justin makes Pat’s heart race. He has no idea what’s going to happen. How it’ll go. “Did he send you over?”

“It was… sort of a mutual decision. He almost friggin’ ran after you but I sorta didn’t think that was a good idea and so I stopped him and made him explain, and then I was like, uh I think I should go actually, because if you — no offense, Pat — but if you were that upset with me, I don’t think it would have been pretty if it had been him.”

“Good call,” Pat says.

Brian hums his agreement and runs his hand through Pat’s hair, scooping it all into a ponytail at the base of his neck and then letting it go. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says. “If you don’t want to see him or talk to him or whatever, like, I’m not gonna force you. And. If you need me, I’ll stay right here.”

“But — what about, I mean, you were just —”

“Yeah, I know. But c’mon, it’s _Justin McElroy_. Like, of _course_ I’d fuck him if he offered, but it’s also so, like, statistically ridiculous that it even happened that I’m not that torn up if I’m not able to see it through. But I see you every day, and, and you’re a presence in my life that I — Pat, I care about you a lot, and if you need me, I’m _here_. I might never see Justin again after tonight, but I get to see you all the time, and I — goddammit, Pat, I _like_ you, and if you feel the same, I want to build on that. Even if you don’t, you’re still my friend! If you’re hurting and there’s anything I can do to help, I’m not gonna just ditch you, no matter how hot the guy down the hall is.”

Pat gives a watery laugh. “It is pretty fuckin’ rude of him to be so attractive.”

“Right! That’s what I’m _sayin’!_ But the point is — the point is, I’m not taking a hookup over — over _you_. Full stop.” He pauses, then. “For the record, in the sake of full disclosure, um, he did say — he offered, like — and — and there really is no pressure, and you really _really_ don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do I swear to god, but, um. If the situation was such that everyone was into it. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. It could be all three of us.”

“Oh,” says Pat.

“It’s up to you.”

“I’m thinkin’ about it,” Pat says, and pushes his face harder against Brian’s hair.

What a bizarre offer. What a bizarre night.

Pat can’t deny it: it’s tempting. And Brian is right.

“Fuck, it’s not gonna do any of us any good if we stew in this. Let’s just go talk to him.”

Brian squeezes Pat tight before he lets go of him, bounces up on his toes. He gives Pat a nervous little smile that lifts higher on one side than the other.

“You’re too fuckin’ cute,” Pat says gruffly. Brian takes a beat to process this, and then his whole face lights up.

“Really?”

“And fishing for compliments, I see,” Pat says, and cracks a smile before Brian’s expression can dim. Brian wrinkles his nose at him. “Can I —” Pat stops, cuts himself off, but Brian raises his eyebrows and nods encouragingly. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Brian breathes, stepping back into Pat’s airspace, and Pat cups Brian’s face in his hands. Brian’s eyes flutter closed before their lips meet in the softest brush of a kiss. Just one. It feels like the physical manifestation of every moment Pat’s spent longing for him. It feels like a promise. It feels like a _gift_.

Brian looks up at him, his brow furrowed and lips parted in unspoken emotion.

“Let’s go,” Pat says softly, and Brian leads the way.

Brian bursts through the door with a _Backstreet’s back, all right!_ at a volume that makes Justin go _gah!_ and drop his phone, and subsequently causes Pat to have to hide a laugh behind his hand before he trails after Brian into the room.

“I brought a boy home,” Brian says. Pat rolls his eyes as he closes the door behind himself, double-checking that it’s actually locked this time. “He’s pretty cute. I think I might keep him.” Brian’s grinning at Pat when Pat turns around; Pat feels his face go hot all at once.

“I’m not a fuckin’ stray cat,” he says.

“Mm, cute, scruffy, might claw at you if you get too close to that soft underbelly… seems close enough to me!” Brian says. He bellyflops onto the bed and scooches up to get his whole body on there, puts his chin in his hands, and directs his very most charming smile at Pat and Justin in turn. “Pat, come sit down.”

Pat follows instructions and sits at the foot of the bed next to Brian’s hip, pulls his legs up so he can sit criss-cross-applesauce, facing Brian and Justin. Brian reaches over to pat Pat’s thigh. Justin looks — well, honestly, real fuckin’ anxious. He pulls his feet up onto the bed too, mirroring Pat on Brian’s opposite side.

“This is so friggin’ dramatic,” Brian groans, and rolls over onto his back to look at both of them. “One of you start talking. And by one of you, I mean Justin.” He makes a finger-gun at Justin, clicks his tongue and winks.

“I, uh,” Justin says, a little helplessly. He looks at Brian, and then Pat, and then Brian again. “Brian, this was a really fuckin’ weird energy to come in here with.”

“I’m sorry! I was trying to lighten the mood because you are both miserable motherfuckers and also if I see either of you cry again, _I’m_ gonna cry, and I’m trying to circumvent that.”

Pat and Justin both make the same sort of dismissive _psssh_ sound, like they’re trying to wave off the accusation of tears, and Brian snorts. He pushes himself up into a sitting position — can he _ever_ stay still, good Lord — and studies the two of them.

“Should I clear out so you guys can talk?” Brian says. An uncomfortably long silence stretches between the three of them, and Brian sighs. “Okay. Executive decision. I’m going to go into that bathroom right there, and I’m going to take a shower because I am sweaty and gross from jumping around everywhere downstairs, and also, like, need to clear my head a little. Jesus. I need a fully functioning brain for you two, I swear. And when I get back out here, you better be talking or have talked. If you need me, just barge in, whatever, I don’t care. Not like you guys haven’t seen a dick before. Presumably.”

“Presumably,” Pat echoes back, teasing. Brian squeezes his arm and gives him a reassuring little smile as he scoots past him to get off the bed. Pat watches as he ambles on over to the ensuite to make himself scarce.

And then it’s just Pat and Justin.

Pat’s mouth is suddenly dry. When he wrenches his eyes away from the closed bathroom door to look at Justin, Justin is watching him. Pat feels his mouth twitch, though into what expression he couldn’t possibly guess. Justin drops his eyes from Pat’s face as soon as their eyes meet, looking down at his own hands, which are picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” says Pat.

“I thought — you never — and you’d just —”

“You didn’t talk to me _once_ the rest of the week —”

“I was giving you space to come to me! How was I supposed to know it wasn’t a fuckin’ rebound situation?”

“Cool technique! Actively ignoring me is a _great_ way to express that you want to talk about what went down, good job! Why’d you hit me up now, then? Sure I’m not on the rebound?” The words taste bitter coming out of his mouth, ugly and sharp, as he finds himself swerving hard into anger. “How was I supposed to _talk_ about it if you wouldn’t so much as meet my eyes? It was a little hard to not take it personally, under the circumstances. I don’t have anyone to talk to about any of it! Like, great, just came off the worst fucking month of my _life_, and no one — I — there wasn’t anywhere to turn, and then you showed up and you looked at me like I was worth something and then — and then —” He breaks off, frustrated at how his voice cracks, at how he can’t find the right words.

“Patrick —”

“I’m not _done_.”

Pat knows he’s lashing out like some cornered wild thing. Knows he’s scared and that’s what’s making him angry. But Justin’s mouth snaps shut, and Pat presses on, because he doesn’t know when else he’s going to be able to say any of this.

“What was I supposed to do, Justin? Like, hey, no big deal, I just had a long-term relationship blow up in my face and I’m barely keeping myself together, yes absolutely let’s fuck and I’m gonna handle it _so well_ when you won’t look me in the eyes fucking _ever again_.” Pat’s voice goes rough; he clears his throat in a fruitless attempt to fix it. “Like, damn, if you only wanted to fuck me once a year you could’ve just said.”

“That’s not — I didn’t want that.”

“There was literally no way for me to know.”

“I was waiting for you to come to me, Patrick. Don’t — don’t give me that face, you know perfectly well that I was in a higher-level position and that there was every chance you’d feel pressured if I was the one to pursue it. So I backed off and waited for you to come to me.”

“Think you backed off a little too far.”

“Yeah. Fuck. I know that now. By the time I put it together that of _course_ you were waiting for me to say something, it was way too late to fix it. I thought, anyway. Like, goddammit, I should’ve — I should’ve known you needed to see that someone gives a shit about you. It’s not like it was rocket science. You all but wrote it in the sky for me. And I’m — god, Patrick, I’m so sorry that I let you down like that.”

“I was such a wreck,” Pat says, his voice strangled. “I probably shouldn’t have slept with you in the first place, if I’m being totally honest. But it happened, and, like — I’d thought we were cool, we talked pretty regularly before, but then I got _nothing_ from you. Absolute radio silence. Which was _super_ fun to try and handle on top of everything else. I had no idea what I’d done to make you do that. But I figured you wanted to be left alone. So I left you alone. And then you left Polygon and I figured I’d never see you again for the rest of my goddamn life unless I went to see a show for one of your podcasts or some shit. And I was fine with it. I had to be. And then I finally thought I _was_ fine with it, and now you’re _here_, and — and what was I supposed to do? Did you want to pick up where we left off? Where the _fuck_ did we leave off?”

Justin is looking at him with those blue eyes of his, chewing his lip, like he’s not sure what to say.

Fair enough. Pat’s not even sure what he wants Justin to say. He’s prepared to wait him out, but then something else occurs to him, and he blurts out another question before he can stop himself: “Also, hey, why the fuck did you immediately go for Brian? Did you seriously come all the way up here to fuck a video producer?”

That gets Justin to talk, stuttering through an embarrassed explanation. “That was — no. I super wasn’t planning on that. I came because Tara invited me. She invited Griffin too, but, y’know. He’s real far. Like, I was kinda hoping I might see you, and kinda hoping I might be able to get things right, clear the air, but also I just really — y’all are a good bunch. I wanted to see my friends. See how everyone’s doing. And then I ran into you, and that went — not so great — and then I got to talking with Brian after you left, and you would not _believe_ that kid’s game.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m well aware. Charming asshole.”

“Right? So he was def feeling it out to see if I was down, and, fuck, of course. As soon as I indicated I might be interested he turned it _all the way the fuck on_ and — god. I assumed you’d fucked off, like, that that was a hard no and you were gonna make yourself scarce so you didn’t have to run into me, and so going with Brian had an additional bonus of removing me from the situation so I wouldn’t get in the way of the rest of your evening. So I was like, fuck yeah, problem solved, and this’ll be real fun.”

“I’ve had such a crush on him for ages,” Pat says, with a wry smile.

“Hah! God, that’s not a surprise. Hard not to, I bet.”

“Honestly. Motherfucker’s a goddamn _delight_. I can’t even handle it. Drives me fuckin’ crazy. I adore him. And — and — god, you too. I never — I — Christ, I want you both so bad. It’s gonna be the death of me, but god help me, it’s the truth.”

“Did — did Brian tell you —”

“He did. I’m still thinking about it. Like — _hah_ — my dick wants to for sure, but I just — I need to know that the same thing isn’t gonna happen again. That there’s gonna be communication. That I’m not gonna get shut out and left to deal with everything on my own again.”

“I swear I’ll communicate the hell out of you. Pinkie promise,” Justin says, and holds out his little finger towards Pat. Pat can’t help but laugh as he hooks his finger with Justin’s.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Pat says. “I’ll set Brian on you if you don’t.”

“Oh _god_,” Justin groans. “Wait — so are you guys, like — did you, like — when he went to talk to you —”

“We, uh. We talked about it a little,” Pat says softly. He glances in the direction of the closed bathroom door, then back at Justin. “And, um, kissed.” He’s blushing, he knows it, which is ridiculous under the circumstances — Justin’s seen his entire dick and he’s seen Justin’s entire dick — and yet here he is.

“Aw, that’s sweet. Good for you. If you, uh. If you do want me to clear out, I can leave you guys to it. It’s no trouble.”

There is a moment Pat considers it. A long moment.

But Justin’s hand is still on the bed between them. He is so beautiful. And, truth be told, Patrick still _wants_ him.

“I think,” Pat says slowly, reaching out to put his hand on top of Justin’s, “I think, if you’re interested, we could give him something real nice to walk back in here to.”

Justin looks stunned, like this was absolutely not the answer he expected.

“Are you interested? There’s no pressure on you, either.”

“Yeah, Patrick. Absolutely I am. Anything you want, baby.” Pat’s never heard Justin’s voice so gentle before.

So Pat crawls up the bed to sit in front of Justin, to pull him into a slow, deep kiss.

It starts out tender and sweet. Explorative, lingering kisses. Reminding themselves how the other feels, after so long apart. Pat makes a soft, rough noise in his throat, and something shifts between them at that; Justin pulls Pat all the way into his lap, so Pat can wrap his long goddamn legs around him, so Justin can hold Pat tight.

They don’t press forward more than that, because they’re both waiting for Brian to come back, and it’s _nice_. Nice to be kissed. To be held. To anticipate Brian’s return, nervous and excited, eager to get his hands on him.

Justin and Brian are both the type of beautiful brilliant vibrant people that Pat has always longed to be. That Pat feels like he falls just a little too short of. Like they both have some spark inside them that makes everything they touch _better_. Makes the world a little brighter when they’re around. A little kinder. They’re talented at fucking everything they put their hands on, funny and clever and could do any goddamn thing in the world if they wanted to.

Pat wonders if he might have had that spark once and it burned out along the way, or if it’s something most people can only dream of having. Something that most people can only drink in the reflected light from; something that Pat is drawn to like a moth to a flame.

“You okay?” Justin murmurs against Pat’s lips, stroking his thumb over Pat’s cheekbone.

Pat has no idea. He opens his mouth to say something — not that he knows what it’s gonna be — but then he hears the click of a door opening and turns to see Brian, damp-haired and shirtless, a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips.

Brian gives a sheepish little _gosh-who-me?_ smile. “Forgot to grab a shirt,” he says breezily, but makes no move to go find one.

“Sure you did, you little minx,” says Justin, and Pat snickers. “Get over here.”

Brian hops up onto the bed as Pat slides out of Justin’s lap. Brian sidles over and puts his chin on Pat’s shoulder; Pat gives a little exhale of a laugh and wraps his arm around Brian. Brian takes this as the signal he apparently needed to curl right up into Pat’s side and put his arms around Pat’s middle. He’s _so_ warm, his skin humid and shower-damp, so vital and alive and _present_.

“So what’s the sitch?” Brian says, as he persistently burrows his face under Pat’s chin. “I assume you talked, seeing as you were, y’know, in his lap.”

“Yeah,” Pat says, idly tracing his fingertips over Brian’s bicep. Brian shivers and presses closer. “I, um. God. You guys really want me here?”

“Uh, of _course_, Patrick,” Brian says, very slowly (not) and casually (extremely not) worming his way into Pat’s lap. “I’m crazy about you, are you kidding me?” The evidence to support this claim is pretty damning, considering Brian has barnacled himself to Pat’s front and shows no sign of moving anywhere anytime soon. “But,” Brian says, and leans back enough to look Pat in the face, “I’m so serious right now, Pat, if you’re even a _little_ unsure then we are keeping all this on pause until we get all our shit straightened out.”

“Responsible as hell for someone who was draping themself all over me downstairs,” Justin says. Brian cranes his neck around to look at him, tossing his hair.

“Puh-_leeze_. I was exaggerating. I knew you were into it. You like a pretty boy who will throw himself at you, huh?”

Justin winces at that. _Ah_. Dead to rights.

“I mean, nothing _wrong_ with that,” Brian says, hugging Pat tighter even as he keeps his eyes on Justin, “you just gotta, y’know, be careful with my sweet fragile lil heart.” He flutters his eyelashes at Justin. Pat is in equal parts irritated and grateful that Brian is saying this, that he’s putting it like this, that Pat doesn’t have to say it, that Brian will say it at all.

How is it so easy for Brian to do this, to say exactly what he needs to say when he needs to say it? Pat bets Brian would’ve talked to Justin, had it been him in Pat’s shoes a year ago. _God_. He tries not to compare himself to other people. Tries not to pin his self-worth to the way other people perceive him. But, fuck, is it ever hard not to when your constant counterpart is Brian.

Gill and Gilbert. Like palette-swapped versions of each other, now that Brian’s hair is getting long like this. Pat the surly one with a deadpan affect and Brian the fuckin’ _superstar_. The shiny version. The one everyone’s eyes go to first. It’s not that Pat’s jealous. That’s not quite the thing. He adores Brian, just like anyone who claps eyes on him does.

It’s more that sometimes, he wishes that there was something about himself that he could point to. Something he could know, objectively and factually, is good about him, that is something that people like. He doesn’t need to be magnetic like Brian.

He just wants to be worth his _time_.

“I swear I’ll do better,” Justin is saying. “I promised Patrick, but I promise you too. I’m not — I’m not gonna fuckin’ jet. Shit, I’ll, like, make you pancakes in the morning or something, I don’t know, whatever you want. It’s not gonna be like last time. I mean it.”

“But, like,” Pat says, and struggles for words for a moment. “What happens then? I mean, cool, we can fuck, I’m sure it’ll be amazing, but then what? Not tomorrow, maybe not even the next day, but by a few weeks from now? Justin fucks off back to Huntington and Brian and I go back to will-they-won’t-they?”

“Spoiler alert,” Brian says, “they _will_. If you want me, I’m staying right here and that’s that. You’re not gonna wake up a week from now and lose me. Heck, you’re not gonna wake up a month from now and lose me. I mean, like, okay, that’s coming on a little strong, I admit it, but I am dead serious, Pat!”

“That’s real sweet and all, but you hardly know shit about me,” Pat says.

“Not true!”

“Okay, so you know I’m not straight and you know I fucked Justin and, what, that I have a cat named Charles and can’t compose a sentence before ten in the morning and a cup of coffee? That’s great. You know what else? I’m more than a half-decade older than you —”

“Justin’s that much older than _you_, that doesn’t matter —”

“— I was in a relationship for ten goddamn years until it fuckin’ imploded a year ago and we got divorced and I’m still fucked up over it; I’m trans, by the way, just so you know, and before Justin, I’d never been with a man as a man, and that obviously worked out super well. I have no fucking idea how to do this. Any of this. I don’t even know if I _can_ do this anymore. You both deserve the entire world and what have I got to give? God. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be kidding myself like this.” He tries to move away, to disentangle himself from Brian, but Brian — damn him — just holds tighter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brian says. His arms are, huh, stronger than Pat had expected, his hands clasped firm against Pat’s upper back so Pat doesn’t have a chance in hell to get away, not being held like this with Brian in his lap. “So you’re worried. That’s fair! That’s understandable! You have every right to be. That sounds like a lot of shit to go through, and of course you’d be hesitant to try again. But god, Patrick, give us a chance to decide if it’s too much for us before you write it all off.”

“It _is_. It will be. I always need more than anyone’s willing to give me and I can’t — I can’t do this to myself again. I’m so sorry. I should’ve thought about this before I came back here. _Brian_ —”

Brian does not let go.

Why can’t he just let Pat leave? It would be easier. It would be so much easier to run. If he breaks his own heart, they can’t break it for him. He can’t give his stupid fucking heart out again. Can’t keep passing it out like a free sample at goddamn Costco. When has that _ever_ gotten him anywhere? When has he ever let someone in without them carelessly knocking his feelings to the ground and leaving him to deal with the pieces?

When was the last time someone wanted him out of something other than obligation?

Do they feel _obligated_ to him?

“It literally sounds like you’re preemptively dumping us,” Justin says, not unkindly. “Or him. Or whatever. I don’t know what you’re seeing on the table here. But you might check in to see if either or both of us are up for what you want before you hit the self-destruct button?”

“Yeah,” Brian chips in, before Pat can say anything. “Seriously, c’mon, there’s no way I’m gonna be like, _‘oh whoopsie daisy actually I’m gonna G-T-F-O ‘cause Pat has emotions and is an entire complex human being.’_ Like, what? I’m sorry you’re feeling this way, but I’m not gonna abandon ship because of it, unless you want me to. And when I say want, I mean — like — _actually_ want. Not what you feel like you’re supposed to do all self-sacrificingly or whatever.”

“I don’t _know_ what I want! I want you, both of you, but there’s no way — I can’t — there’s no way that you’re gonna wanna keep me. Not after this. And I’m sorry. I _am_. Every time I try to put myself out there I keep sabotaging myself and I don’t know _why_. I don’t know if it’s too soon or if I’m afraid of it ending in another disaster or if I just really can’t do this or what, but every single time I get anywhere close to — to having something with anyone I freak the fuck out. And, like, I know it’s happening. Obviously I know it’s happening. But I can’t seem to _stop_ it. I’m so into both of you and I don’t have even the first goddamn idea of how to chill the fuck out enough to — to do even one single thing — it’s so — I can’t — it’s just — it’s _hard_,” he says, fully aware of how pathetic he sounds, the way his voice goes pitchy and plaintive.

Brian nuzzles his face against Pat’s neck. “Yeah. It is hard. But you know? You don’t have to jump into it headfirst. If you’re not ready for anything serious, it doesn’t have to be. We can take this at your speed. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

“You’ll get bored,” Pat says.

“Who the fuck are you to say that for us?” Justin says, without aggression.

“How am I supposed to know what you want?” Pat shoots back, with more aggression than he’s proud of. The heels of Brian’s hands dig into Pat’s shoulderblades, like a warning. “How am I supposed to know if you just want to hook up once a year and not say a word in between —?”

“That’s not what I _wanted_, Pat —”

“It’s what happened, though! And I know you said it won’t go the same way this time but how do I know that? How do I know you’re not just gonna drop me again. I feel like some sort of fucking logic puzzle here. Like, if you’re hot, and he’s hot, and I’m a hot _mess_, what’s the probability that I ruin my relationship with both of you by the end of the night? According to my calculations, it’s looking pretty goddamn high.”

“Nuh-_uh_,” says Brian. It should not be physically possible for him to be holding Pat more thoroughly than he is now, but he shifts in Pat’s lap to wrap his legs around Pat so that he’s hugging him with all his limbs. “You’re stuck with me now. Gotcha. You said you like me too. No take-backs.”

“Stubborn motherfucker,” Pat says, and means _thank you_.

Brian drops a featherlight kiss on Pat’s temple, fast as a blink. “You can’t out-stubborn me!” he says.

“Maybe not,” Justin says, “but I’ll give you a run for your money. Patrick, I understand if you don’t want to try to pursue anything with me. Or if you want me to go now. Or — or whatever it is you feel most comfortable with. But. I swear to god I’m not gonna drop off the face of the earth again. It was shitty of me, and I’m sorry. I knew perfectly well what you were going through, and I was completely irresponsible about — well, about all of it, honestly. If you’re willing to give me another chance, I’m fuckin’ _in this_ as much as Brian. But —”

“Stop it with the buts,” Pat murmurs, and waves a hand to gesture Justin over, since he can’t exactly go to him with Brian attached to him like he is. Justin moves across the bed to sit closer to Pat, still cautiously not touching. “I like you. You know this. I was hurt, yes, but I’m sorry too, for lashing out at you like that, and, honestly, for not reaching out either. I’m more than willing to give it a shot with you. With both of you. I’ve — I’ve never done anything like this before, but I fuckin’ adore you guys. It’s just — I’d — there’s a lot going on here. I’d need you to be patient with me.”

“I can do that,” Brian says, loosening his vice grip on Pat a little, as Justin says, “Of course.”

Pat lets himself collapse against Brian, giving up on trying to hold himself upright after all that tension. Brian goes with the momentum and lets Pat topple them both backwards, then out of absolutely nowhere straight-up fucking flips Pat onto his back in a graceful move that Pat wholly did not expect, knocking the breath out of him. Brian grins and straddles him.

God, he is stunning. He’s more muscular than Pat gave him credit for, and his chest looks goddamn biteable. Like he’d look real good covered in hickeys, joining the one Justin left on him earlier. He’s softer at his belly, but Pat’s certain if he pressed his thumbs to Brian’s stomach he’d be able to feel his abs. There’s a dark line of hair beneath his bellybutton, disappearing beneath his waistband, and — Pat is becoming suspicious that Brian may not be wearing _anything_ but those sweatpants, now that he thinks of it.

“You are so goddamn gorgeous,” Brian says, running his hands up Pat’s chest to rest on Pat’s shoulders. “God, I’d do anything you wanted.”

“Hold your horses, holy shit, Brian,” says Justin, who is out of Pat’s line of sighs, because Pat’s line of sight is pretty much just, uh, wow, Brian. “Pat, do you even want to do anything tonight?”

Pat sighs. “I do. I don’t think we should fuck, though. Like, not gonna lie, I would love to, except I’m not sure it’s a great idea tonight, since my goddamn anxiety decided that it wanted to make this into a foursome.”

Brian snort-laughs, and smooches the tip of Pat’s nose, lightning fast. “God, you’re a dork!”

“So are you,” Pat says, and he can’t help smiling, not with Brian looking at him like this. He reaches up to nudge Brian’s chest (_Jesus Christ why the hell is he so gorgeous_) and says, “Let me up, you asshole.”

Brian pouts, but obliges. He climbs fully off of Pat this time, and Pat sits up to, oh, hello, find himself face-to-face with Justin, who looks — god, nervous. Justin’s hands are on his knees, his legs crossed; Pat reaches out to lace his fingers with Justin’s, both their hands now resting on Justin’s leg. Pat bites his lip and dares to look up at Justin’s face again.

Pat’s not good at reading expressions. He’s never been great at social cues. But the look on Justin’s face is so — so _much_, tender and grateful and anxious and overwhelmed and so, so sweet.

“Can I kiss you?” Pat whispers, for the second time this evening.

Justin nods, his eyes wide. So for the second time of the evening, Pat shares a soft, lingering kiss with a man about whom he has more feelings than he knows how to handle. It’s only one kiss. Just a press of their lips, that’s all. But something in Pat’s throat goes tight as he pulls back, and he and Justin exchange a look for the briefest of moments before Pat pitches forward into Justin’s arms. Justin pushes his face against Pat’s shoulder as he hugs him, drawing a breath like he, too, is trying to steady his emotions.

“I’m so sorry, Patrick,” he whispers. “I’m gonna do everything I can to prove to you that giving me another chance was worth it. I promise you. Me ‘n Brian are gonna treat you right.”

“Brian’ll knock us both upside the head if we pull any more bullshit,” Pat whispers back, and then they’re both giggling. The laughter brings with it a tidal wave of relief. Pat feels — shaky, and vulnerable, like he could cry, but it’s a wildly different kind of feeling than the one he came into the room with.

“Too goddamn reasonable. Who decided to let Brian be the reasonable one?” Justin says.

“Hell if I know,” Pat says. “I’m glad, though.”

“What, I’m not reasonable?” Justin teases, dropping his voice into something closer to a growl and grabbing Pat’s ribs to tickle him. Pat squawks and lurches out of his lap, colliding straight into Brian. Brian, laughing, grabs Pat and — only just avoiding an accidental elbow to the face — wrestles him down to the bed, pinning him with a forearm against his shoulder.

Brian grins, wicked, at Pat’s breathlessness. “Gotcha.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Pat wheezes, as Brian flops right down on top of him. “Yep, you got me, alright.”

“Sure do!” Brian says. “And guess what.”

“What.”

“You got me _too_.”

“Thank goodness,” Pat murmurs, letting his hands settle at the small of Brian’s back. It’s not necessarily the most comfortable thing in the world to have Brian laying on him like this, but there’s something about the pressure of being flattened into the bed like this that’s chasing the tension right out of Pat. “I know sex is off the table tonight, right, but — uh. What’s the verdict on kissing?”

“Oh my god, Pat, if you’re cool with it, I’ve been wanting to make out with you for, like, a zillion years,” Brian says.

“That’s a long time,” Justin says, settling beside Pat, laying on his side and propped up on an elbow. Brian rolls his eyes, which Justin pointedly ignores. “Have at it. I’d love to get in on that at some point, but no rush. And if that’s, uh, if that’s not to be, that’s okay too.”

“Oh, trust me, you’re getting a turn,” Pat says, and he has just enough time to see the way Justin’s eyes crinkle when he laughs before Brian kisses him.

If Pat’s first kiss with Brian was filled with longing, this is pure unadulterated glee. Brian kisses him over and over, quick hard presses of his lips, until Pat runs his hands up Brian’s back, lightly dragging his nails over his skin. Brian shivers and slows enough for Pat to lick at the seam of Brian’s lips, for Brian to gasp openmouthed and dial it back a little to let Pat set the pace.

It’s been a long time since Pat made out with someone just for the sake of it, without it leading up to something. The temptation to slide his hands beneath the waistband of Brian’s sweatpants and get his hands on his ass is _so_ strong, despite the fact that he knows perfectly well that’s not on the program tonight.

He very much approves, though, when Brian pushes Pat’s shirt halfway up his torso to get their bare skin pressed together, and he approves even _more_ of the sound that Brian makes when Pat rocks his hips up against him, just to see.

“Patrick,” Justin says, warning, and Pat gives the most aggravated _hm_ that he can muster. “Give the kid a break, he’s gonna fall apart any second.”

“Am _not_,” Brian mumbles against Pat’s lips. “Also, what the fuck, not a kid.”

“You’re more’n a decade younger than me, bud.”

“Quit sniping at each other and _kiss_ me,” Pat says, and Brian ducks his head to get his mouth on Pat’s neck, which leaves Pat’s mouth free for Justin to take.

Justin is overwhelming in a way that’s not dissimilar to Brian. Both of them throw their whole selves into everything they do, which turns out to fully include kissing Patrick. Justin makes a rough, quiet sound of desire as soon as their lips meet. Pat’s fully surrounded by them now; Brian has moved down Pat’s body a little, for a better trajectory and to get out of Justin’s way a little, but he’s still mostly draped over Pat, and now Justin is up close to Pat’s side, Pat’s face cupped in one of his hands, and Jesus _Christ_ Pat has never experienced anything like this before. Never thought he’d get to experience anything like this in his _life_.

It feels incredible to have both of their undivided attention on him. To feel Brian’s cock against his thigh. To have Justin nip at his lower lip and push his hand into Pat’s hair. He pulls, just a little, and the shuddery two-step gasp Pat gives makes both of them stop to stare at him.

“Shut up, I’m into it, leave me alone,” Pat says, gruff as he’s capable of at the moment, and so of course Justin does it again. Pat’s eyes flutter shut and he leans into the touch as Justin’s hand moves to cradle the back of his skull.

“What else are you into?” Brian says, against Pat’s jaw. “Opinions on marks?”

“Fuck, it’s the one time of year I can tell people I got chomped by a vampire if I’ve got a hickey on my neck. Go wild,” Pat says, and Brian laughs.

“Mm. I vant to suck your _bloood_,” he teases, and grazes his teeth over Pat’s pulse point.

“What if vampires talked in the, uh, in the uwu voice? I want to suck youw bwood —”

“Patrick Gill, I will walk out of this room right this minute, do not test me.”

“Dang, guess I get Justin all to myself, then.”

“_Nooo_,” Brian whines, and flails an arm out to grab for Justin. “I want both of you.”

“I guess you’ll just have to suffer Pat’s uwus,” Justin says.

“The worst fate! I shall not suffer an uwu to live!”

“Then fuckin’ kiss me more, I dunno what to tell you, I can’t uwu if I’m —”

Brian kisses him. He shoves both hands into Pat’s hair and kisses him slow and deep and filthy, enough to make Pat whine into his mouth. Brian moans in reply, his hips twitching like he’s doing everything in his power not to grind on Pat’s leg. Pat nudges his thigh upwards against him, just a little, to see what he’ll do, and he’s rewarded with a wet gasp and a tug at his hair as Brian presses himself harder against Pat. So Pat does it again, more deliberately, and the whimper he gets in return is delicious.

“Stop, Pat, I’m — I’m too worked up, please,” Brian gasps, pulling back.

“Sorry,” says Pat, abashed.

“Nonono, you’re good! I just, uh. Didn’t want to, um, escalate. Justin, you wanna take over?”

“Are you gonna go jerk off in the bathroom?” Justin says, not even bothering to suppress a smirk as Brian sits up.

“I — uh — um. Maybe.” Pat’s never seen Brian blush like this, wow.

Justin throws his head back in laughter, and Pat has to bite his lip on a smile.

“Go on, baby,” Pat says softly, and Brian’s breath hitches. Pat catches his lips against his for one more kiss. “No shame in that. You gonna think about how you’re gonna fuck me when you’re touching yourself?”

Brian gives a shaky _uh-huh_.

“I can’t wait ‘til you do,” Pat says. “Gonna feel so good.”

Brian makes a quiet, needy sound, and leans in for one more kiss. He climbs off of Pat, then, and grabs for Justin, to haul him up and kiss him too. Justin, not to be outdone, slides his hand down to grab Brian’s ass over his pants. Brian’s hips twitch forward against him, as he moans against Justin’s mouth. It is a fucking beautiful spectacle.

Justin pulls back as abruptly as Brian had started, leaving Brian reeling. “Go on, sweet thing,” Justin says, and swats his ass as punctuation.

Brian, dazed, goes with no argument.

Pat and Justin wait very politely until the door clicks shut to burst out into giggling.

“Oh my Lord,” Justin says. “I get why you’re so into him. Not that I didn’t before. He’s really somethin’ else, huh?”

“Yeah,” Pat says. He’s fairly certain that if it were possible, he’d probably have little hearts floating around his head right now. “He really is.” He glances at Justin. “So are you. God. How’d I end up here?”

“You deserve everything good in the world, sugar,” Justin says, “and if anyone’s got it in them to make it happen, it’s gotta be Brian.”

“And you?” Pat asks softly.

“And I intend to do the same. If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I will,” Pat says. “Of course.”

When Justin kisses him this time, it feels like a promise.

Brian comes back sleepy-eyed and snuggly. Pat kisses his cheek and hugs him before he trades places with him, leaving Brian to press himself into Justin’s arms and Pat to use the bathroom.

He brushes his teeth and splashes some water on his face and, after several long moments of deliberation, strips his shirt off and abandons it beside his jeans, to return to the bedroom in just flannel pajama pants.

Justin and Brian are either kissing or talking with their faces close together — hard to tell from this angle — when Pat re-enters, but both of them look up when they hear the door. He can feel himself blushing all the way down to his neck when they look him over, and gets himself over to the bed.

“Your turn,” Brian says to Justin, nudging at him. “Brush those teeth and get _comfy_. We’re gonna get so snuggly up in here.”

“Fuck yeah,” Pat says, and Justin shakes his head — fondly, smiling — and dutifully goes.

“How are you doing?” Brian asks, once they’re alone. He cups Pat’s face in his hand, gently stroking his thumb over his cheek.

“A lot better.”

“Oh, good,” Brian says, with genuine relief. “I was worried. I’ve never seen you that upset.”

“Yeah. It, uh. It’s not a frequent occurrence.”

“God, yeah. What a mess. I’m — I’m really glad you’re here,” Brian says, tracing his hand down from Pat’s face, along his shoulder, across his back, finally pulling him close enough that they’re touching along their whole bodies. Brian’s a powerhouse, always going at full tilt in any direction. Pat hadn’t expected to find that when he slows down, when he stops, he’s steady. Solid. He anchors his leg around Pat’s, wriggles up close so they’re pressed as close to each other as they physically can be.

“Me too,” Pat whispers into Brian’s shoulder. He kisses him there, for good measure. “Thank you. For looking out for me. For being patient.”

“Aw, baby, of course.” Brian pulls back enough to look Pat in the face. “I wanna make you happy. Wanna make you smile, and feel good, and — and _appreciate_ you. You’re friggin’ wonderful. I’m right here for you, and I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

“Okay,” Pat says softly. “Will you kiss me?”

“Mm_hmm_,” Brian sighs, sliding his hands down to Pat’s chest as he leans back in to press his lips to Pat’s. He drags his hands down Pat’s front, greedily touching Pat’s skin; he thumbs at his nipples and slots his fingers over his ribs and drums fingertips against his sternum and swipes his thumbs impassively over old scars and curls his hand around his hipbone and trails slow, reverent kisses across Pat’s jaw, down his neck.

The room is so quiet, aside from the two of them. Pat closes his eyes and lets his head fall back to give Brian better access to his throat, sighing at the fuzzy-tingly feelings Brian’s lips spark wherever they touch. Pat lifts his hand to stroke his fingers through Brian’s hair; when Brian hums his appreciation, even that seems loud. There’s a distant thrum of music, so far away that it might as well be in a different dimension; there’s the rushing sound of the shower on the other side of the far wall; but, mostly, there is his and Brian’s breathing.

“Hey,” Brian says on an exhale, his lips brushing the side of Pat’s neck. He seals his mouth against Pat’s skin, applying just the slightest bit of suction. A prelude to the question he follows up with: “May I?”

“Yes.”

Pat can’t help the soft sound he makes when Brian pushes his hand into Pat’s hair and curls his fingers into a fist, as he sets to fuckin’ work at applying what Pat’s certain is destined to become a dark bruise, above where any shirt collar could hide it.

He can’t help, either, that when Brian pushes him down a little to slide more on top of him, he makes another sound that’s half a whimper and rolls his hips against Brian’s thigh. He’s embarrassed for a biting half-second, but Brian makes a low, appreciative sound and rocks his thigh up against Pat’s crotch — turnabout is fair play, Pat supposes — and Pat moans as Brian pulls his mouth off Pat’s neck and crowds himself closer to kiss him, sloppy and messy and eager, positioning himself _just so_, such that Pat gets dizzyingly good friction when he grinds against him.

“So fuckin’ good, Patrick Gill,” Brian says, low and rough, and tugs at Pat’s hair again. Pat’s leg twitches and he picks up his pace, breathing hard, swiveling his hips at — _god_ — at such a good angle. “Never thought I’d get to see you like this. I _adore_ you.”

“Fuck, _Brian_,” Pat gasps. “God, I want you so bad.”

“You got me, baby. I’m right here. I got you. What do you need?”

Pat groans, but musters all his self-control and knocks Brian’s leg away with his own leg. “‘S really good. I just — can’t, not right now, no more than this.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Not now, not ever.” Brian kisses Pat’s chin. “We can always stop whenever you need to. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just, uh, what’d you say before? Didn’t want to escalate.”

“Ha! Fair enough. C’mere. It’s cuddle time,” Brian says, flopping over onto his back so that Pat can drape his arm over Brian’s chest and curl up against his side. Brian kisses his temple. “I meant it earlier, you know. I’m more than willing to take this as slow as you need to.”

“What if it’s weird? What if I want all the wrong things out of order? What if I want to fuck both of you sometime within the next twenty-four hours but am still scared of, like, the long term?”

“Then we’ll talk about it! We get to make the rules here. No one else. If you wanna fuck tomorrow but aren’t willing to so much as look at the word _boyfriends_ for ages, we can do that. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. I can’t speak for Justin, of course, but I get the sense that he will — and I _know_ I will — be here until and unless you tell us to fuck off and not come back. You’re worth it, Pat. You’re more than worth it.”

Pat hugs him tight. Pushes his face against him, like he could hide from the world in Brian’s shoulder. He’s so warm, so soft and solid and alive. The steady rise-and-fall of his breathing, the thud of his heartbeat, is enough to relax into. Enough for Pat to close his eyes and let himself be still.

He hears a door open, and feels as much as he hears the way Brian’s voice vibrates through his chest, even as he speaks quietly: “How’s it goin’ over there?” There’s a smile in Brian’s voice, friendly and fond; Pat knows it even with his eyes shut.

“Is Patrick asleep?” Justin responds, answering Brian’s question with a question of his own, voice hushed.

“I dunno. You asleep, baby?” Brian says, tucking Pat’s hair behind his ear.

“Mmh.” Pat snuggles closer, and Brian exhales a laugh. “Justin, get over here, so help me god,” he adds, muffled against Brian.

The blankets lift, bringing cold air in, and Pat makes a discontented noise before Justin settles in at Pat’s back and wraps his arm around him. That’s a much more amicable situation, thank you. He never dreamed that tonight would end with him pressed between the two of them, that he would be able to touch him, that he could kiss Brian and then roll over to kiss Justin, too.

Brian hooks his chin over Pat’s shoulder, because he cannot stand to be ignored. Pat cracks one eye open, his lips against Justin’s, to side-eye him.

“What!” Brian says.

“Did’ja want something?” Justin says, amused.

“Uh, _yeah_.”

“Too bad,” Pat mumbles, and kisses Justin again. Or tries to, but fails, because Justin is too busy giggling. “_Hey_. Rude.”

“Sorry,” Justin says, unrepentant.

“So, like,” Brian says, slinging his leg over Pat’s thigh, worming his arm between Pat and Justin to latch onto Pat that way too, “what’s the plan?”

“Gonna have to be more specific than that, bud,” Justin says.

“For us, I mean. Like. The immediate future.”

“My immediate future is going the fuck to sleep,” Pat says.

“I meant _after_ that, you dingus.”

“I dunno, Brian, that’s the whole _situation_,” Pat says with a sigh. “Here’s what I got: I’d like to have sex with you two. I’d _really_ like it if you stuck around. I don’t know if I’m ready to, uh, call a spade a spade and launch headfirst into a capital-R Relationship or anything, not now, nor anytime soon, but. Um. If you’re willing to work with me here, I’d really — I’d really love to — I’d really like to pursue this. With both of you. If you want to, too.”

“Fuck _yeah_,” says Justin, as Brian nods frantically into Pat’s shoulder.

“I’m gonna date the heck out of you. Just you wait,” Brian says, squeezing Pat tight. “You’re gonna get _so friggin’ romanced_.”

Pat laughs, and twists to kiss him despite the awkward angle. “I look forward to it,” he says. “Can I expect to get fucked with similar enthusiasm in the near future, too?”

“Um, yes, _absolutely_ you can.”

Pat’s eyes flick to Justin, who winks. Pat snickers. “Alright. We’ll — can we look into that in the morning?”

“Look into it?” Justin teases.

“And by look into it I mean, uh, if we’re all down to clown —”

Brian plants a loud _smack_ of a kiss on Pat’s cheek. “You know it, babe. Anything you want.”

Justin kisses the corner of Pat’s mouth. “Anything at all,” he agrees.

“Shit, you guys are gonna spoil me,” Pat says, shifting so he’s lying on his back and can look at them both at the same time. He folds his hands behind his head, and Brian splays his hand out beneath Pat’s ribcage.

“That’s the goal, sweetheart,” Justin says, and puts his hand on top of Brian’s as he leans in for one last lingering kiss. “But sleep first.” He smooches the tip of Pat’s nose before he moves away to settle against the pillows, to lay down on his side and press his lips to Pat’s temple.

“Probably a good idea,” Brian says, with his most dramatic longsuffering sigh, and flops down against the mattress with a _whump_. “‘Night, boys. Can’t wait to wake up to you tomorrow.”

Brian punctuates this by pushing himself back up to lean across Pat and kiss Justin, the hand supporting his weight digging into Pat’s abdomen in a way that kind of hurts, but Pat can’t even begin to care. They are both unbearably goddamn beautiful, and Pat would do anything, anything at all, to stay a part of this.

Brian kisses Pat too, then, the kind of slow lingering kiss that Pat could sink into and stay in forever. He _siiighs_ when Brian’s tongue slips into his mouth, his hand falling to the small of Brian’s back.

When he pulls away, Justin has turned the lamp off, and the only light left in the room is the late-night moonlight that creeps in between the blinds.

“Good night,” Pat whispers into the dim. And, softer, adds, “Thank you.”

He lets himself drift off to sleep after that, held close. Maybe he’s uncertain about the future; maybe he doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, much less the next day, or the day after that. But right now, he is not alone, and that is enough.

* * *

When Pat wakes up again, the room is lit in warm hues from the sunrise, and also he is _ungodly hot_ squished between Justin and Brian, who might as well be a pair of human space heaters. He is sweating and it is gross and he is trapped too thoroughly between them to do anything but suffer, with Justin’s legs tangled with his and Brian’s arm around him like he’s a pillow to hug.

He’s trying to triangulate how best to sneak out, and manages only to shift a little before Brian gives a sleepy _hm?_ and blinks his eyes open, face-to-face with Pat. Brian gives a soft _oh_ at the sight of him, and Pat smiles, a little sheepish, a little shy.

“Hi, baby,” Brian whispers, lifting his hand to brush his fingertips across Pat’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Brian’s expression is so open, so earnest, his eyes wide and his lips parted. It tears at Pat’s chest to look at him, except — shit, it doesn’t have to.

“Me too,” Pat breathes, and closes the distance between them. Brian makes an appreciative sound, low and wanting, and good Lord, it surges through Pat’s veins. He presses closer to Brian, and this is apparently Justin’s commotion threshold, because Justin huffs and rustles the sheets, moves away to push his face into the pillow, until Brian makes another one of those sounds and suddenly Justin’s right there against Pat’s back.

“We gonna do this thing?” Pat says, half-mumbled against Brian’s lips. “‘Cause I’d love to,” he adds, as Justin pushes his thigh up between Pat’s legs. There’s no pretense here, not with him; he presses right up against Pat’s crotch, which makes Pat huff an amused exhale against Brian’s lips.

“I’m down, if y’all are,” Justin says, with a kiss to Pat’s shoulder. “Jesus Christ, Brian, did you do this?” He presses his thumb into the bruise on Pat’s neck, making Pat inhale sharply.

“Sure did,” Brian says, a little breathless.

“Hope you’ve got some concealer at home, Patrick,” Justin says, wriggling closer to kiss at him, to apply pressure at Pat’s most sensitive spots, with his mouth and hands and the thigh he has between Pat’s legs.

“Ugh, god, me too,” Pat says, and Justin laughs as he slides his hands down Pat’s front. He pauses above Pat’s waistband. “Go for it.”

“Oh! Can I — can I get naked _too?”_

“You are too goddamn enthusiastic for your own good,” Justin grumbles at him, all bluster. “And presumptuous. Those ratty old sweatpants are the only stitch of fabric on your whole body, aren’t they.”

Brian grins. He looks like he may be attempting to be abashed, with the way he ducks his head a little, but can’t manage it even slightly. “I know my assets,” he says, wiggling his ass to emphasize his point.

“Terrible,” Pat sighs. “Lemme see your dick, Brian.”

“Romantic!” Brian huffs, in mock offense, already shucking his pants off to cast them aside. Justin’s hands snake beneath Pat’s waistband, warm and broad over the place where his thighs meet his torso. He stays like this as Brian scrambles back into place, parking himself next to Pat for inspection.

“_Oho_. Daddy like,” Justin says, before Pat can say a word, and Pat puts his face in his hands in dismay and Brian groans. “Patrick, don’t even pretend, mister.”

“Jus_tin!”_

“Oh, what?” Brian says with interest. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Pat can feel his face burning beneath his hands. “He means I called him _daddy_ last time we fucked,” he says into his palms. “I’m sorry! Was it weird? It was probably w —”

“Patrick, Jesus Christ, it was so hot,” Justin says. “Where do you land on that, Brian?” he continues, as he finally moves his hands to work Pat’s shorts off his legs. “‘Cause if it’s a no-go for you —”

“I mean, no one’s ever called me that before,” Brian muses, which makes Justin burst into cackling laughter for whatever reason. He moves away to let Pat kick his pants off his ankles, and it’s not until Justin’s spooning Pat again does Brian put it together. “Wait, did you mean about me calling _you_ that?”

“That was sorta what my question meant, but y’know, your interpretation ain’t bad either.”

“He’s younger than _both of us_,” Pat despairs.

“Teen dads exist,” Justin says, not even making it past the first word before he’s wheezing with laughter again. Pat glances up at Brian, who is pouting spectacularly, and can’t help his own laughter.

“Very funny,” Brian says. He pushes a hand into Pat’s hair, finds a hold at the nape of Pat’s neck, right where Pat likes it, and o-_kay_ between the tone and the hand, Pat’s, fuck, Pat’s not so doubtful of —

“I didn’t take you for much of a top,” Justin observes mildly.

“I didn’t take you for much of a person who buys into stereotypes,” Brian says back, coolly, and that shuts Justin right up. “Vers, if I’m being honest, but c’mon. You just wanna be wrestled down, don’t you, Pat? And I bet it is a _sight_ when it happens.”

“Fuck you,” Pat says, with no heat to it, and the hand in his hair tugs sharply, drawing a sharp breath out of Pat.

Brian backs off immediately at that, like it’s just caught up with him what, exactly, he’s doing. “Shit, sorry,” he says quickly. “I — if you’re not into all that —”

“I am so into all that,” Pat assures him. “If I tell you to stop, you fuckin’ stop, but aside from that you are good to go, my man.”

“I cannot believe you’re calling me that in bed,” Brian pouts.

“Gimme some incentive to call you something better, then,” Pat says, looking up at him through his eyelashes. “And Justin, get your pants off, will you?”

“Bossy,” Justin says, but disentangles himself from Pat to do so.

“Look, if I’m letting you at me like this, you just gotta deal with it,” Pat says. “Lay it all out beforehand. Anything else we should, uh, check in about? Before we hit the ground running? For what it’s worth, like — for me, I don’t really care what you call my junk or whatever, just don’t make it weird. Uh. That goes for everything really. Don’t make it fuckin’ weird. And be nice. I’m not up for mean shit today.”

“Seems reasonable,” Brian says. His gaze shifts past Pat, and Pat gets to watch Brian’s face as he fully checks Justin out. Pat has to push his hand against his mouth to hide his smile. “Fuck, Justin, you’re gorgeous.”

“I try,” Justin says, and Pat snickers as Justin slings his arm around him again. Pat twists to kiss him.

“You succeed,” Pat says. “Any input from you on how you want things to go?”

“My guess as to what’s in store for us is that you’re gonna be sweet as hell, Brian’s gonna be a massive brat, and we’re all gonna have a great time. I think that sounds great. That’s my input. Give us feedback, alright, baby? If there’s a direction you want us to go in, let us know.”

“Current direction,” Pat says, “I think someone should fuck me, and I want at least one of you to go down on me before we’re done here. Anything else I’m sure we can hash out on the way. That sound good?”

Brian goes _mhm!_ brightly. Justin nods and gently bites the back of Pat’s neck, apparently for no other reason than he’s right there and can. Pat exhales.

“Go for it,” Pat says softly. “I’m all yours.”

Brian lifts one of Pat’s hands to kiss his knuckles, with a suggestive eyebrow raise.

“You’re not subtle,” Pat says. “Want me to touch your dick?”

“Little bit,” Brian says, grinning. Pat shifts to sit up a little — dislodging Justin yet again, but Pat’s sure they’ll get situated at some point — so that he can run his hands up Brian’s thighs and look him over.

He’s fucking gorgeous, is the thing. Pat shouldn’t keep being surprised. He wants to get his mouth on every part of Brian. Wants to feel smooth skin under his lips, to make Brian gasp and hold Pat tight.

So he leans forward to press his lips to Brian’s clavicle, to brush slow kisses across his skin.

“That’s not my dick,” Brian teases, running his fingers through Pat’s hair.

“You’re a dick,” Pat mumbles, which makes Justin laugh and makes Brian give a short affronted exhale. “Never heard of foreplay?”

“Never!” Brian says. “It’s all dicks all the time for me.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“Asshole,” Brian says, and tugs Pat up to get their mouths together.

“How come you keep getting to be the one to kiss Pat,” Justin complains, scooting up behind Pat to slide his hands up along the inside of his thighs, nudging his legs apart. “Share better.”

“Move faster,” Brian says against Pat’s lips, and, okay, Pat won’t lie, he’s kind of into being argued over like this. Likes being the subject of their desire. Likes to have Justin’s fingers teasing at the idea of touching Pat where he already wants it, but not — quite — close enough.

“Y’know, actually, this isn’t half bad,” Justin says, with a kiss to Pat’s shoulder. “I got you right where I want you, baby.”

“Is that so?” Pat says softly.

“I dunno, I think it’s even better for me,” Brian says, peppering smiling little kisses to Pat’s jaw. “You’re gorgeous, Patrick. Justin, will you…” He trails off.

“Will I what?”

“I’m _thinking_.”

“Well, while you’re doing that,” Justin says, tucking his head up close to the back of Pat’s neck to suck kisses into his skin, “I’m gonna do what I want.” At this, he pushes Pat’s thighs farther apart, so he’s spread open for Brian to look at — _god_ — and then moves one hand between Pat’s legs to stroke over him, just teasing, just gently, but Pat sighs and lets his head loll back towards Justin. “Whatcha thinkin’ now?”

“Thinking about how bad I wanna get my mouth on you, Pat, oh my Lord,” Brian says, his eyes so wide.

“Can he?” Pat says.

“How come Justin gets to be in charge?”

“Because of comments like that, Brian,” Justin says, and Pat snorts. “But go for it, I think, if Patrick has no objection?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” Pat says, grinning up at Brian, who smiles back, wide and almost surprised and definitely delighted. “Where do you want me?”

“Over here, boyo,” Brian says.

“Really?”

“You called me _my man_.”

“And that’s on par with _boyo?”_

“This is the worst,” Justin groans. “You’re both the worst. Patrick, scoot so Brian can do something better than this with his mouth.”

Patrick scoots, so Brian can do something better than that with his mouth.

“Brian David Gilbert, if you jump straight into sucking his dick, I swear to _god_,” Justin says, and Brian freezes mid-motion — the motion of leaning down to do exactly that.

“Fine, if you know so well, friggin’ tell me what to do,” Brian says, hiding his pout against the inside of Pat’s knee.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be the boss!”

“Well cuh-_learly_ you know best,” Brian says.

“_If_ you wouldn’t mind,” Pat says, “I can name about twenty different things both of you could be doing with your mouths right now, and I cannot even imagine why you are ignoring that in favor of bickering.”

Brian’s mouth snaps shut as he locks eyes with Justin, and then both of them scramble. Pat has to fight back a smile before Justin’s mouth is against his and Brian’s breath is hot against his skin, pleased to find he has so much sway over them like this. Brian, for what it’s worth, doesn’t go _immediately_ to Pat’s dick, but also doesn’t waste a lot of time _not_ doing that. He dawdles a little to kiss and lick and bite at Pat’s inner thighs, and to suck another of those vicious hickeys into the skin there, but then he sure as hell twists to drag his tongue over Pat.

Pat’s breath hitches as Brian gives a soft moan at the first taste of him. Justin jerks like he’s going to move away to — god forbid — say something to Brian, but Pat pushes his hand into Justin’s hair and holds his head right exactly where it is. He is _not_ letting this dissolve into banter again.

This decision was definitely the right one, because Justin sucks Pat’s lower lip into his mouth and Brian does — _fuck_ — something real similar simultaneously, suckling at his folds between teasing him with soft kisses and, oh, oh _fuck_, that’s really nice. He sighs against Justin’s lips as Justin’s hands smooths over Pat’s chest, his fingers dancing over Pat’s collarbone, his sternum, his ribcage, almost ticklish.

Pat’s known Brian for close to a year now. Brian is the exact type of methodical, studious motherfucker that has clearly put the goddamn work into learning everything that he’s interested in. Pat isn’t even remotely surprised that Brian knows what he’s about in this, too, but he sure is glad to be finding out firsthand. Pat’s certainly slept with people who stared at his junk like it was some sort of arcane puzzle. Pat’s certainly _been_ the person to stare at a person’s junk like it’s some arcane puzzle. Gotta start somewhere, he supposes.

But the point is, the point is, Brian’s not shy; even though Brian is only just getting his first shot at doing this with Pat, he’s not hesitant about testing the waters to see what makes Pat feel good, what makes him moan and twitch and gasp. Of course he’s not perfect right off the bat; it nearly backfires when Pat almost knees him in the face when he bites too sharp of a nip into too close to his dick. Brian squeaks _sorry!_ against Pat’s inner thigh, laps gently at his skin in apology — and it works, more than works, when he dares to suck at Pat’s clit and Pat groans, his back arching in an attempt to get closer.

Justin’s moved from kissing Pat’s slack lips, now, as Pat’s too distracted by Brian’s mouth to kiss him back as well as he’d like. Pat gave him the most scorching side-eye he’s capable of when he opened his mouth to shittalk Brian again, so since he’s not otherwise occupied, he seems to have decided that Pat’s pecs are the ideal canvas to display his hickey technique.

“Christ, Justin, I’m not gonna be able to be shirtless ever again,” Pat says, breathless.

“When are you hanging around shirtless where people can see you?” Justin says.

“D’you have any idea how expensive it is to get your tits taken off?” Pat says, which makes Brian burst out laughing with his face just right up on Pat, which is a weird fuckin’ feeling and Pat jolts away instinctively. Brian’s already petting at his thighs like _ohmygod sorrysorrysorry!_, still giggling, as Pat pointedly continues. “Also, sometimes I like to be able to walk down the hall to my fuckin’ bedroom without putting on a shirt, you jerk.” He’s laughing, though, and Justin’s biting his lip on a smile.

“Do you want me to stop? I will,” Justin says.

“No, I’m just being an ass,” Pat says. Brian helpfully pinches Pat’s ass to demonstrate the point, and Pat _definitely does not_ make an undignified noise — “Stop it, stop laughing, Brian that’s not _fair_ —” he says, as Brian tackles himself right onto Pat, wraps his arms around Pat’s midsection, to kiss Pat all over his laughing face. Pat hugs him back tightly, hooking his leg around Brian’s to anchor him there.

“Aren’t you two pretty,” Justin drawls, and for all his bluster he’s looking at them hungrily, like he wants both of them, and it makes Pat feel warm all over. “I bet you can give us a show, Bri, am I wrong? I know you love to perform. Give it to us, kid. Show us what you got.”

“Not a _fucking_ kid,” Brian growls, the roughness in his voice lending him some gravitas this time, but Justin just snickers. Brian makes a point of ignoring him and turns to Pat, ramps up the charm and says, “Pat, baby, how can I make you feel good?”

“I, uh,” Pat says, “hm.” His face is hot, but he soldiers bravely on through the flush of embarrassment. “I want you to fuck me, Brian.”

Brian’s expression lights up. “O-_kay!_ Here, c’mere, let me —” He straight-up manhandles Pat right exactly where he wants him, gets Pat’s legs splayed open around him. Pat takes a moment to appreciate the perfect view he has of Brian, and then Justin is kissing him. It’s a shame he doesn’t get to watch with Justin in the way, can’t see how Brian guides his cock into Pat, can’t see his body yield to him, open around him, but _god_ can he feel it.

Pat moans into Justin’s mouth, grabs at him for something to hold onto, his hands landing on Justin’s arms. Justin makes a rough noise and shakes Pat’s hands off to take him by the wrists instead. “This okay?” Justin says.

Pat can only nod and give a wobbly _uh-huh_ around the full-bodied wave of arousal that crashes through him as Justin pins Pat’s hands over his head. He rocks his hips up against Brian, who looks the two of them over, then plants his hands on Pat’s hips to hold him down there, too, and Pat makes a desperate, pleading sound.

“You good?” says Brian.

“Yeah, yes, _yeah_, fucking Christ, Brian, you feel so fu-_uucking_ good inside me like this, how did we never do this sooner — god, fuck, your cock is _perfect_,” Pat gasps.

“Jesus, Pat. Feels so good. _You’re_ so good,” Brian says. “Can I — can I move us a little?”

“Go for it, I don’t fuckin’ care, you’ve got me,” Pat says, his voice rough with arousal, and Brian grins. “I think Justin’s got me pretty well held up here, though, so I hope you’re not taking me fa-_aar_.”

Brian moves Pat’s legs for him, folds him in on himself so he can hook Pat’s legs over his shoulders, bent in half so he is absolutely, completely at Brian’s mercy. Brian turns his head to bite Pat’s calf, since it’s right there, and then slides his hands up Pat’s legs to hold him. To hold him as he fucks into him, his head ducked down, his shaggy hair falling in his face, working real goddamn _hard_ for it, for Pat, his chest heaving with his breath.

It’s honestly wonderful. Better than that, really, to give himself up to them. To close his eyes and let them take him, let Justin kiss him enthusiastic and eager, let himself moan when Brian does something that feels especially good, let himself be held between them, to be claimed by them.

“I want hickeys,” Pat mumbles against Justin’s lips. “Mark me up. Want everyone to know I’m yours. Wanna see where your mouths were on me for the rest of the week.”

“You mean more than this ghastly thing Brian gave you?”

“Already can’t hide that one, might as well just — _hah_ — live our best lives.”

“Fair enough,” Justin concedes. He twists a hand into Pat’s hair and yanks his head back. Pat draws a shuddering gasp, physically reacting enough to make Brian moan, as Justin gets his mouth against Pat’s throat with inelegant sucking kisses and bites. It feels incredible, especially with the thrill of knowing that he’ll be able to press his fingers into the marks that the two of them made and remember this moment.

Brian’s stroking at Pat’s clit now, working him in tandem with his thrusts. God, he feels good inside Pat; not too long, but perfect to hit him just right, and thick enough to feel it, the sweet tight fullness of getting fucked. He likes it like that, likes to test his limits, likes to slide a finger in beside his favorite dildo when he’s fucking himself, and of course all that’s a whole other thing entirely, but the thought leads him to entertain for a wild second the idea of being stretched around both their cocks as they fuck him, and he moans against Justin’s mouth.

“Yeah, baby, you like that? Brian doing a good job for you?” Justin says, and Pat sighs out a _yes_. “What do you say when someone’s being nice to you like he is?”

“Thank y — oh, Christ, oh my _fuck-iiing_ god —”

“Not very polite,” Justin says, yanking Pat’s hair. Pat whines, fully beyond coherent speech, and Justin tugs again. “Your words, Patrick. Use them.”

“Thank you, daddy,” Pat manages to get out, a wet gasp, and he feels _both_ of them react to that. Brian’s head snaps up, to look at Justin, and Justin sits back to appraise Pat.

“Now, who was that addressed to?” Justin says, and if he didn’t have Pat by the wrists, Pat would fling his arm over his eyes in embarrassment. But instead, he has to endure them both looking at him like this.

He could lie. But he won’t.

“Either, maybe. Or both.” He winces a little. “Sorry, Brian, if that’s not your thing.”

“I didn’t really think it was before,” Brian says, with wide-eyed wonder, “but, uh, life update, I’ve considered the evidence and — and I’m super into it, actually, oh my god. How do — what do I —?”

“Follow my lead,” Justin says, and, oh.

It’s a dance, the three of them, as they dip in and out, guiding and being guided in their turn.

Maybe Pat isn’t so far from knowing the steps, after all. Maybe not even Brian knows all the steps, either. Maybe they’re all just figuring it out as they go along.

Maybe there’s always someone to help you find your footing.

“Patrick, sweetheart,” Justin says, “tell us what you want. Do you want us both to be daddy?”

Pat gathers his courage and nods. “Want to — _fuck_ — want you to — I wanna take your cocks, both of you, however you want, I — I — it’s so fucking hot,” Pat stutters out, with a self-effacing laugh. Brian strokes his fingertips over Pat’s hips.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, baby,” Brian says. “What’s working for you? How can we make this even better?”

Pat closes his eyes, appreciating the sensations, the way Brian’s cock feels inside him even as he patiently holds still — well, relatively, at least; the way Brian’s hands and Justin’s hands feel on him, Brian petting at him, Justin holding him still. “I like this a lot,” he says. “You feel so good. Feel free to bend me in half like that again, that fuckin’ ruled. Go as hard as you like. Justin’ll hold me down. Also, um. If any of this, like, makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to —”

“Oh my god. Pat. Baby. First of all, trust me, you’d _know_ if I wasn’t into it. And, uh, for second, I’ve wanted to fuck you for ages. I _never_ thought it’d be like this, and it’s — I’m — you’re — both of you are _perfect_. I promise you, if there’s something I don’t like, I will make it explicitly clear. But, oh my god, baby, it’s so friggin’ good.” Brian’s eyes flick to Justin. “Justin, will you kiss me while I fuck Pat?”

“Hell yeah I will,” Justin says. “Keep your hands there, if you please, Patrick.”

Pat does so like to please, so he keeps his hands where Justin left them, but he immediately misses the pressure of Justin’s hands on his wrists when he moves away. He’s distracted quickly, though, because Brian does absolutely bend him in half again, his ass lifted a little off the bed so that he can’t really do anything but take it as Brian thrusts into him. Brian sets a brutal pace straightaway, hard and fast, dragging little grunts out of Pat with every swivel of his hips. Pat digs his nails into his palms with the effort of keeping his hands still.

He blinks his eyes open to see Justin leaning over and kissing Brian, showy as hell for Pat’s benefit, Justin’s hands in Brian’s hair, chasing beautiful little sounds out of him, soft whimpers and moans. They’re both devastating, stunning: Brian with his rumpled tawny hair and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin and his eyes closed and his lips parted against Justin’s — Justin, who has his hands on Brian’s waist, who has a smile fit to outshine the sun, who has freckles across his face and down his shoulders and arms, who is the perfect counterpoint to Brian in every way. They’re breathtaking together, more passionate and enthusiastic than Pat ever thought was possible, and yet here he is, naked and touched by their brilliance.

Pat adores them. Both of them. He can’t believe that they want him here with them like this. He can’t believe how good this feels. He can’t believe how beautiful they are.

“Brian,” Pat says, in a tone that lands closer to a whimper than he’d maybe have intended, “Brian, make me come, _please_ — fuck, _fuck_ — come on, daddy, c’mon, I _need_ it —”

This backfires, but pleasantly: Brian gasps out an _ohmygod_ and so of course Pat whines _please, daddy, I need you so bad, make me come, daddy_, and Brian’s hips snap forward and he drops his head and moans, buried deep inside Patrick as he comes.

Justin winds a hand into Brian’s hair and drags his head up to look at him. Brian’s lips are parted as he pants for breath, his face flushed. He is heartwrenchingly beautiful.

“He said make _him_ come, not you,” Justin says, and Brian’s face goes even redder and his jaw clicks shut.

“Aw, c’mon, Justin, be nice,” Pat says.

“‘S okay,” Brian says, not breaking eye contact with Justin. “I like it.”

Pat clears his throat. “Maybe _I_ want you to be nice. Justin.”

“Sorry,” Justin says, low, like he’s embarrassed.

“No, I get it, it’s easy to escalate with this one,” Pat says, pushing himself up to press a soft kiss to Brian’s lips. Brian wraps his arms around Pat and nudges his face against the side of Pat’s neck to drop a little kiss on his jaw. “If you think you can do better, Justin, by all means please put your money where your mouth is.”

“Yeah,” Brian says, a little gruff, “I’d like to see _you_ not lose it when Pat calls you daddy.”

Pat barks a laugh. “Doesn’t have a strong track record yet.”

“Hey!”

“Just stating the facts,” Pat says, with a sly grin at Justin.

Justin rolls his eyes, but can’t manage to fight back a smile. He cups Brian’s cheek in his hand and kisses him, unexpectedly sweetly. “That was beautiful,” he murmurs against Brian’s lips. “You look good like that, the two of you. D’you think you can deliver on Pat’s request?”

“What’s Pat want?” Brian says, looking at Pat askance.

“I dunno, man, like, Justin’s dick or your mouth or his mouth or either of your hands or _whatever_, I’m not picky, I just — fuck, will someone get back over here and not leave me hanging?”

Justin laughs and pulls away from Brian to drape himself over Pat and kiss him, his mouth hot against Pat’s, kissing him like he’s been dying for it since their mouths were last together, all of minutes ago.

“Do you want me to fuck you too?” Justin says. “Like, if you’ve had enough dicks in you for one day —”

Pat huffs a laugh. “It’s flattering that you think I wouldn’t lay myself out and beg for your cock right this second, daddy.” Pat _feels_ Justin’s response to that, and smiles.

“Jesus _Christ_, Patrick.”

“If you really wanna upstage Brian, you gotta have the same parameters as him, right? Or else it’s not really fair,” says Pat. Brian, behind Justin, puts his hand over his mouth to muffle a laugh.

“I didn’t know it was a competition.”

Pat exchanges a look with Brian.

“Like you haven’t been acting like it is this whole time,” Brian says, and when Justin turns to look at him Brian makes a face at him, wrinkling his nose and sticking his tongue out. “An-y-_way_, Pat, I can totally go down on you, if that’s what you’d like. Finish what I started.”

“And what about me?” Justin says. He seems to revel in the surprised-embarrassed look on Brian’s face for a moment, before glancing over at Pat. Pat sighs.

“He’s fucking with you, Brian, which I _just_ told him not to do.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not,” Pat says. “I shouldn’t let you fuck me if you keep this up. Brian, if he keeps bugging you, go ahead and make him shut up.”

Justin blinks in surprise — oh, how the turntables — and Brian grins, filthy-smug, and moves over to get himself right up on Justin, one arm tight around Justin’s back as he kisses him deep and fiercely, the other hand wrapping around Justin’s cock to give him a few enthusiastic strokes, and the second he wrenches a moan from Justin, Brian slips right out of his arms and back over to Pat.

Pat winks at a stunned Justin as Brian dives forward, drops down to drag the flat of his tongue over Pat. Pat groans and fumbles for Justin’s hand to lace their fingers together. Justin leans down and kisses him, splays his free hand out low on Pat’s belly, last two fingers pushing into coarse curly hair, right by Brian’s goddamn face. Pat spreads his thighs wider, plants his feet on the bed, and Brian holds his legs there as he licks and kisses and sucks at Pat, trying what seems to be every trick in his book to see what Pat likes.

Brian, when he applies himself, is relentless. He tilts his chin up to suck at Pat’s dick, flick his tongue against it, only to move away just as quick if Pat starts breathing heavy and his feet scrabble on the sheets. He has full faith in Brian’s ability to get him to come, but, honestly, he wants Justin to get in on this too, so he prods at him until he gets the message.

Brian moves out of the way for Justin, who immediately shrugs Pat’s leg up onto his shoulder and fucking _goes for it_. If Brian was relentless, Justin is driven, and it’s no time at all before Pat’s making desperate broken pleas for Justin to let him come. He watches as Justin grabs Brian by the wrist, takes Brian’s first two fingers to shove them inside Pat, not nicely; Pat cries out wordlessly, rolls his hips into the sudden feeling of fullness, as Justin works his mouth on him, as Brian fucks his fingers into him —

It feels like a blessed inevitability when he comes, crying out as molten heat courses through his goddamn bones, as his hips buck up as Justin sucks at him and doesn’t let up, hardly even slows down, until Pat’s eyes sting with almost-tears and he has to push Justin’s head away to give himself a second to recover.

“_Wow_,” says Brian, which pretty much sums up Pat’s feeling on the matter as well.

Justin scoots back up the bed to kiss at Pat, to leave little pecks of kisses indiscriminately across Pat’s mouth and cheeks, then the tip of his nose, just to make him giggle.

“Was that good, baby?” Justin says, running his fingers through Pat’s hair. Pat leans into the touch and hums a contented _mm-hmm_.

“Gimme a sec and you can fuck me,” Pat says, and Justin huffs an embarrassed sort of laugh.

“You — you really don’t have to, if you don’t want,” says Justin. “There’s no obligation, I — if that’s too much, you can say so —”

“Justin,” Pat says, as Brian crawls up the bed to squirm himself under Pat’s arm and nudge his head under Pat’s hand until he pets his hair, “I swear to god, I’ve wanted a reprise for a _year_. I want you to fuck me and make me come, and that — that’s the — please?”

“I wanna hold you while he fucks you,” Brian chips in, pushing his face against the side of Pat’s neck. “Please? If that’s what’s on the agenda?”

“As if I could say no to you holding me,” Pat says, not realizing until it’s out of his mouth how tender that is. Brian hugs him tight, though, and Pat can feel him smiling against his neck.

“If you’re sure, I’m fuckin’ here for it,” Justin says. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do something with me ‘cause you did it with Brian.”

“I don’t feel that way at all, I swear. I just — fuck, Justin, you’re really gonna make me say how hot it makes me thinking about how I get to have you both like this? How I’ve wanted you both for so fucking long? How — god, do you _want_ to make me beg for your cock?”

“Jesus Christ, Patrick,” Justin breathes. “I mean, like, _yeah_ —” Brian snorts. “— but it doesn’t, uh, doesn’t sound like that’s exactly what you’ve got in mind?”

“Not really, no,” Pat says, fumbling for Justin’s hand to lace their fingers together.

“Put it together, dude, he’s been asking you to be nice all morning,” Brian says.

“Oh,” Justin says, and then, “_oh_.”

“What would you do without me,” Brian says, and kisses Pat’s temple.

“Fuckin’ perish, probably,” Pat says, closing his eyes as Brian traces his fingertips along the line of Pat’s jaw. “Or, presumably, not get laid.” He cracks open an eyelid to look at Justin. He’s expecting Justin to look impatient, to be fidgety and want to get on with it and do the dang thing already, but there is such open fondness and affection on his face that Pat could probably see it from the moon.

Pat tugs on Justin’s hand to get him to come closer, and it is like this he kisses him, with Brian’s fingertips lightly tracing over Pat’s skin, with Justin’s hand in Pat’s. Pat bumps Justin’s hip with the side of his leg in a very subtle hint as to the direction he’d like Justin to head, please.

It’s different this time. Different than with Brian. Different than with the last time with Justin. Brian’s arms are wrapped around Pat’s chest, but he’s able to curl around him enough to pepper Pat’s face with enthusiastic kisses.

And Justin, god. He touches Pat like he can’t believe he’s here, like he can’t believe he got another chance, like if he touches Pat too hard he might shatter the moment. His broad hands look good on Pat’s hips; Brian, in point of fact, hisses this observation into Pat’s ear.

Between Justin’s gentleness and the vice grip Brian has on him, Pat feels so — god, just so _warm_, literally and metaphorically, like the sunlight through the window is sinking through his skin and filling him from the inside out.

Justin takes his time with him. He kisses over every single individual bruise he left on Pat’s chest, and then makes his way down along Pat’s abs; his nose brushes against dark curls of hair as he moves to press his mouth to the muscle at Pat’s inner thigh. He inhales as he drags his tongue over Pat’s entrance, and Pat sighs out a synchronized breath.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, sweetheart,” Justin says softly. Pat isn’t sure what to say — isn’t even really sure what to do with his face — until Brian hums his agreement and pushes his first two fingers against Pat’s lower lip.

And _that’s_ easy enough to figure out. Pat opens his mouth to let Brian push his fingers past his teeth, closes his eyes and sucks on them and — _oh_ — draws a breath as the head of Justin’s cock bumps up against him.

Pat whines, muffled around Brian’s fingers, as he takes him agonizingly slowly, Justin showing off just how patient he can be. It’s good — like, really good — to have such considerate attention paid to him, to have Justin petting at him and Brian wrapped around him, to have them both wholly focused on making Pat feel good. Makes Pat feel like he’s something special to them.

He lets his head drop back against Brian as Justin fucks into him, keeping a pace so steady that Pat can’t even fathom how he does it. He’s so focused, keeps his eyes on Pat, and when Pat meets his eyes he smiles, that genuine smile that Pat loves, the one that crinkles his eyes and lights up his whole face.

“God, _Justin_, you’re perfect,” Pat groans, and that smile stays, sheer unmitigated delight. Pat wonders if — wonders if he can — if he rolls his hips _like so_ to take him in deeper and clenches around his cock — _oh_ — Justin moans in response. He ducks his head a little and rebalances himself to change the angle from which he’s coming at Pat — _ohgod, Jus_-tin — and Brian’s arms tighten around Pat’s midsection, like he somehow knows how Pat likes to be held tight and steady while he’s getting fucked.

“How’re you doing, baby?” Brian murmurs into Pat’s ear. “Anything else you’re wishing for?”

“Christ,” Pat says, “it’s already so fuckin’ good — _ah_ — I really like this almost-restraint thing you’ve got goin’ on here, though, it’s real good.”

“Do you want more of that? I can hold you better than this,” Brian says. Pat’s eyes flick over to Justin, as if for permission, and Justin gives him an encouraging nod, so Pat nods too. “Want my hand in your hair? You seemed to like that a lot.”

“Yes, please,” Pat says, and Brian gives a contented sort of hum. He places his palm against the back of Pat’s hand and links their fingers, tugs their arms across Pat’s chest so it’s like he’s hugging himself, except Brian’s holding him in place. Brian’s other hand slides up the back of Pat’s neck and finds a good grip on the hair at his nape, and a low sound shudders its way out from Pat’s chest, needy and thankful.

“All set?” says Justin, who’s paused as they recalibrated, and Pat smiles — probably dopily — and goes _mmhmm_ and Justin gives a soft, affectionate laugh.

Pat closes his eyes and sighs. He’s too content like this to struggle, to fight against Brian’s hold like he often likes to when he has someone making him be still — sue him, he likes to be outmatched, likes to have someone stronger than him holding him down. But this — here, now, in Brian’s arms — he can sink into it and just let it feel _good_. Brian’s gently scritching at his hair; he’s warm, against Pat’s back, and it is some sort of goddamn miracle that he is here at all.

Between the two of them, Pat doesn’t know how he can bear it — doesn’t know how he’s not blinded by their incandescence, doesn’t know how come he gets to feel good pressed between them, but he’s so thankful for it he can feel it in his teeth. Brian hums — everything he does is musical, rhythmic, Pat swears to god — as he runs his hand through Pat’s hair, tugging a little at the base of his skull, to get a reaction from Pat.

Even more overwhelming than that, though, is the mounting sensation that builds deep inside him as Justin fucks him. Pat looks at him through heavy-lidded eyes, honestly too blissed out to do much more than that. Justin bares his teeth in a flash of a smile and picks up the pace, enough to shift Pat up against Brian with each thrust, to drag sounds out of Pat in time with his. Brian’s arm around Pat tightens, to counterbalance Justin so Pat is jostled less, and that’s, god, that’s good.

“How d’you want to come, baby?” says Brian’s voice, his breath hot and close to Pat’s ear.

“Want Justin to get me off,” Pat says, his voice coming out closer to a whine than he’d expected it to. “_Please_.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Justin says, and Brian huffs out a laugh as Justin — _oh_ — as Justin’s hand slides between Pat’s legs to stroke at Pat’s cock as Justin fucks into him, _mmmfuck, yeah, yes, yeah, thank you_ —

“Are you close?” Brian whispers.

“Just feels good,” Pat slurs, his eyes fluttering shut. “Love this. Love getting fucked like this, ‘s the best thing, Justin you feel so _good_, ‘n you’re holding me so tight.” Justin’s — _god_ — Justin knows what he’s doing, and what he’s doing is driving Pat right up to the edge like it’s nothing, like everyone who’s never been able to make Pat come was simply not trying, like he’s absolutely perfectly tailored for Pat.

“Daddy, _please_,” Pat says, half a whimper, and Brian draws a breath and tightens his grip on Pat’s hair as Justin’s hips stutter and jerk forward hard. Justin’s thighs are shaking, his face flushed; he’s gotta be close. He’s such a gift, though, because he works his hand on Pat faster and more deliberately and Pat moans, bucking up against him.

“I got you, baby. Daddy’s gonna make you come, make you feel so good,” Justin says, his voice low and soft and a little rough, and this time Pat whines wordlessly in reply. He wishes, in passing, that he could see Brian’s face — could see what his reactions are to everything playing out in front of him right now — but the thought is banished along with, honestly, pretty much everything else in his mind, as Justin rubs at Pat’s cock just right and Pat’s hips jolt right up off the bed, shoving Justin’s cock deeper into him, and Pat breaks off into a moan as Brian drags Pat’s head back by his hair, leaving him gasping raggedly. Brian’s hand leaves Pat’s hair, then, and wraps around Pat’s folded arms to keep him tighter against Brian as his body shakes.

Brian’s lips press against Pat’s temple, the gentlest counterpoint to the way Justin’s fucking him now, desperate, working him with his fingers and fucking his cock into him.

“You look so good like this,” Brian says. “You gonna come for us, sweetheart?”

Pat’s response is a shuddering gasp and — and — and —

It’s not some pretty climax, no spine bending like a bow, no cry of names or epithets, just a guttural sort of sound as he twitches and spasms against Justin, body wrenching up towards him but held fast by Brian, unable to do anything but shake apart as Justin pistons into him as he talks fast and desperate, “so good, Patrick, so good for me, for us, baby, you take me so well, fuck, _fuck_ —”

Justin breaks off with a low groan, thrusts into him hard one last time, his fingers digging into Pat’s thighs as he comes. Pat’s still panting, still trying to catch his breath, and has to squeeze his eyes shut and bite back a whine, overwhelmed but _good_, as he watches the tension leave Justin’s body, as Justin sighs a contented exhale and lifts his head to look at Pat and Brian, a dazed little smile on his lips.

“C’mere and cuddle us,” Brian says, letting go of Pat to make grabby hands at Justin. Justin laughs, a little breathless, before he scoots up the bed to snuggle up with them. They keep Pat between them, like he’s _theirs_, both of theirs, and it fills Pat with such warmth. Justin kisses Pat, softly, sweetly, but Pat is too drowsy to kiss back properly. Brian giggles, watching them, and kisses Pat’s shoulder.

“You’re _wonderful_, Pat,” Brian says, all earnest excitement. “I wanna keep you, if you’ll let me.”

Pat reaches up, uncoordinated, to pat Brian clumsily on the cheek, which serves mostly to make Brian giggle more. “Gonna keep you too,” Pat says. “And Justin.” He drops his arm back down to wrap it firmly around Justin again. Justin presses closer, tangles their legs together, tucks his face under Pat’s chin.

“I’d like that a lot,” Justin says, muffled against Pat’s skin.

“Good. ‘Cause it’s happening,” Pat says, with an air of finality.

“Good,” Brian says. “Glad we solved that one.”

“Thank god,” Justin mumbles, which makes the three of them laugh.

It’s easy, then, for Pat to let himself snuggle in deeper between them and close his eyes and _siiigh_. It’s early, real early, a time at which Pat would never ordinarily voluntarily awaken on a weekend, and so he has no qualms about letting himself drift off to sleep, held safe and warm between the two of them, with Brian petting his hair, with Justin’s breath humid against his chest.

* * *

Pat can hear the Christmas music from the second flight of stairs, and he can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes him as soon as he places the telltale jingling of _Sleigh Ride_. Brian’s right behind him, and Pat’s laugh sets him off snickering too.

“What a cruel trick,” Brian says. “There was, oh my god, there was this one production I was in in Scotland, and we were all stupid, right, and basically everyone got fucked up the night before a rehearsal, and the next morning this pretentious fucker in the pit orchestra decided that the first thing he was gonna do when he got there was play _allll_ of his piccolo long tones. Everyone was so pissed. It was hilarious.”

“You weren’t the pretentious fucker, were you?”

“Hah! No, I don’t do a lot of wind instruments.”

“Except that awful squawky thing you had around the office for like two months.”

“That is a venova, I will have you know, and it is a _totally legitimate instrument_, Patrick Gill.”

The holiday music is untenable by the time they reach the ground floor, even for someone not hungover. Pat can hear Justin’s voice already; it sounds like he’s bickering with someone.

“— saying, you disappeared awful fast last night —” That’s Tara, maybe? And a bark of laughter from Simone.

Justin gets as far as “Well, I —” when Pat and Brian cross the threshold into the kitchen, and Simone takes one look at them and collapses onto the table in honking laughter. Justin, who has his back to the entrance, turns around slowly, and then goes “oh my _god_,” and buries his face in his hands.

Which is more than fair. Pat’s neck is littered in livid bruises that he’d been unable to hide, all the way up past the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing; Brian is wearing a shirt that is absolutely definitely Justin’s, from the way it hangs loose off him, cozy and comfortable.

“Oh my god,” Tara echoes, and flings her hands up and stands. “Nope, okay, no, I changed my mind, actually don’t tell me anything.”

Pat winces, his morning mood starting to gutter out like a candle flame in a rambunctious wind. Tara must see this, because she gentles a little as she walks past to exit the room.

“Plausible deniability, gentlemen,” she says. “Nothing personal, just not trying to dig into _both_ your lives this morning. Hope you had a good night.” She winks and brushes past them.

Pat thinks he blushes all the way down to his toes. Brian bursts into giggles and Pat elbows him in the ribs, which only makes the giggling worse.

Justin sighs. “Get over here, you two,” he says, and Brian nearly trips Pat by bolting across the room to be the first one to fling himself at Justin. He buries his face into a surprised Justin’s hair, and after a beat Justin’s arms go up to wrap around Brian’s waist, almost cautious. “Been up ten minutes and already causing trouble?”

“More like an _hour_, it took like thirty minutes to convince Pat to get out of bed and it wasn’t even because we were doing anything fun! And then he was all like, ‘I gotta _shower_ before anyone looks at me’ —”

“Some of us like to be presentable occasionally,” Pat says, sliding into the chair at Justin’s right.

“To make up for your fucking neck?” Simone says.

“See, you get me!” Pat says. “Brian’s like ‘what does it matter if you already look like you went a round with a werewolf,’ but it’s the principle of the thing.” Pat shoots a side-eyed look at Brian, who is now perched in Justin’s lap right here in the kitchen in front of god and everyone. Well, everyone is pretty much just Simone at the moment, but anyone could walk through at any moment.

It’s a cute little scene, actually. Brian’s arms are around Justin’s shoulders and he’s smiling away like he’s the happiest goddamn dude in the world, and he looks cute as hell in his bright blue basketball shorts and the Tybee Island shirt he’d dug out of Justin’s bag, all leggy and wiggly and happy with Justin’s arms loosely around his waist. Pat cares for them both so much it _aches_.

Simone gets up and clips Pat on the shoulder with the back of her hand, and drags him back to his feet. “Quit making heart eyes and —”

Pat may never know what Simone intends to con him into doing, because she’s cut off by Allegra’s dramatic entrance.

“Okay, _who_ the heck put on Christmas music? It’s November first! It’s barely not Halloween anymore! The living room has a thousand pumpkins in it! I will not stand for this, where’s the — oh my god, _Pat_, what happened to your neck?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I went vampire hunting?” Pat says dryly, to snickering from Brian and Justin. Allegra’s head jerks towards them and her eyebrows jump upwards.

“He’s been trying to use that line since last night,” Justin says. “Let him have it.”

“_Pat!”_ Allegra says, joyfully, because she’s the only one to have known the full extent of Pat’s messy feelings situation, and before he can say anything further, she hugs him. “Does this mean you can stop moping around like a sad sack?”

“Okay, wow, rude —”

“I’ll put teasing on hold for exactly ten minutes if you tell me where the freaking device that’s playing Christmas music is so I can smash it.”

“I think Tara’s phone is Bluetoothed to the speakers,” Simone volunteers. “See if you can connect instead, maybe?”

“Simone, you’ve officially been promoted to my favorite. Pat, you’re officially not exempt from teasing because you didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t know! I got down here like five minutes ago!”

“Too bad!” Allegra says, but she grabs him around the shoulders to hug him again when she passes by. “Get it, Pat,” she hisses into his ear.

“Oh, fuck you,” Pat says, gently shoving her away, both of them laughing.

“I expect a full report!” she says over her shoulder as she leaves the room.

“You’re not getting one!” Pat calls after her.

“I’ll give her one!” Brian says.

“The fuck you won’t!” Pat says.

“Give us a number,” Simone says, “one to ten?”

“Haven’t y’all gotten rid of the numerical rating system at Polygon?” Justin says, faux-haughtily.

“I give the whole thing a _Polygon Essentials_ out of ten, thanks for the reminder, Justin,” Brian says.

Pat groans and covers his face with his hands as the Christmas music cuts out abruptly. There is a triumphant shout from Allegra.

“Not ‘til after Thanksgiving in my house, binches!” Allegra says, returning to the kitchen. “Anyway. Where were we?” She wiggles her eyebrows and Pat sighs with all the love in his heart.

“You were about to be a kind and understanding friend and not pry into my personal life in front of the entire world?” Pat tries.

Allegra pretends to think about this, narrowing her eyes and tapping her finger against her chin. “Maybe,” she says. “But only ‘cause it’s pretty obvious.”

Pat sighs, but he’ll take it. He’s going to say something — he’s not sure what — but instead Simone skips over to hook her arm through Allegra’s. “Let’s go get McDonald’s and leave these chumps to their shenanigans,” Simone says. “I never get to drive these days, let’s go on an adventure.”

“Ooh, okay,” Allegra says, easily persuaded, and Simone winks at Pat behind Allegra’s head. Pat mouths _thank you_ at her. He loves Allegra dearly, can — and does — tell her everything, but right now he just wants to be with Justin and Brian, and he deeply appreciates Simone for intuiting that. “Do you guys want to come?” Allegra adds, in the direction of the three of them.

“Maybe next time,” Pat says lightly, and now it seems to click for her.

“Cool, okay, that works! Should we grab Jenna?” Allegra says to Simone.

“Bring me back a hash brown,” Brian says, wriggling around in Justin’s lap to peer at her over Justin’s shoulder. Then Justin says he wants a Diet Coke and Pat says he wants pancakes and Brian says ooh so does he, and then they’re all three going back and forth like that until Simone gives in, laughing, and tells them to just text her what they actually want and they _owe her one, okay_.

Pat sits back down next to Justin and Brian, once the two of them have left, and he scoots his chair up close to theirs when Justin offers his arm to Pat for hugs.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Justin murmurs against Pat’s temple. “How’s it goin’?”

“Good,” Pat says, leaning into the touch. “Real good. I’m — I’m just happy to be here with you two, honestly.”

“Me too,” Brian says.

“Me three, but Brian, your bony ass is hurting my legs, will you get up,” says Justin, and Pat snickers as Brian stands, pouting his very hardest. Pat holds his arms out for Brian instead, and Brian beams and throws himself at Pat roughly enough to get an _oof_ out of him. Pat wraps his arms around him tight, nuzzles him where his neck joins his shoulder, where the collar of his shirt has slipped aside and his skin is exposed. Brian is wiggly and warm and perfect, absolutely perfect, even if Justin wasn’t wrong about his bony ass, but Pat will keep that to himself for the moment.

They’re quiet for not a full minute before Brian speaks again, over the sound of _The Christmas Waltz_ coming from the next room, thanks to Tara hacking into the mainframe again from god-knows-where.

“So what do we do now?” Brian says.

“Shit, I dunno,” says Justin. “Any thoughts, Pat?”

Pat closes his eyes, taking it all in. Brian’s chest rises and falls under Pat’s hands as he breathes; his skin is soft against Pat’s cheek. He doesn’t even mind the weaponized festivity coming from the speakers. God, if Pat’s not careful, he’s going to fall right in love with him. With both of them.

But maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to be careful. Maybe this time, the fall will land him somewhere he can be caught. Maybe this time, things will be better. Or maybe not! But he supposes that there’s only one way to find out.

He reaches for Justin’s hand, so he can be touching both of them. Holding both of them. Held by both of them.

“Well,” Pat says. “I guess I don’t really know what the, uh, what the traditional next step would be here. And we all know I’ve got a bunch of shit to work through. But. I meant what I said, and — and I want to do this. With both of you. So I dunno what the immediate next step is, or anything, but I hope it involves hugs.”

“Baby, it _always_ involves hugs,” Brian says, and squeezes Pat tighter to prove his point. “Let’s go sit somewhere comfy and talk schedules? Hash some shit out more clearly?”

“Good Lord,” Pat sighs, but he’s grateful. “You and your spreadsheets.”

“I’m starting with calendars, thank you _very_ much,” Brian says haughtily, springing up out of Pat’s lap. He holds both his hands out, one for Justin and one for Pat. “C’mon, I found a cute window seat when I was exploring yesterday. Let’s go snuggle.”

Pat doesn’t quite know what to expect yet. It’s all new territory here. He’s certain they’ve got a long way ahead of them yet; that there’s a lot to discuss, a lot to unpack, a lot to figure out, before they find their footing. He’s sure they’re all going to stumble, to step on each other’s toes, as they test out the steps to this new thing they’ve made. There’s so much ahead of them. A whole future, maybe, for the three of them.

Brian takes Pat by the waist, pulls him close and takes his hand in a vague approximation of something that could become a waltz, and dances Pat out of the kitchen. They laugh together at Pat’s clumsiness, at his graceless turn when he has to duck under Brian’s arm as Brian twirls him out and lets go to step up to Justin.

So Pat doesn’t know the steps yet. That’s okay.

He feels himself smiling as he watches Brian and Justin whisk each other around the room, far and away more confident than Pat was or ever has been. Somehow, even watching them from the center of the room, he still feels like he’s a part of it. The two of them are beautiful together, laughing and looking over at Pat, like they want his praise, like they’re showing off just for him, showing him how wonderful things can be once he knows where his feet should land, once he’s not so scared to trip over himself.

And, god, he can’t wait to learn.

**Author's Note:**

> happy polygolidays from [static noises] to you!
> 
> (but really if you don't know who wrote this before authors are revealed i will be astonished LOL)


End file.
